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The strand magazine 


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July to December, 1902 

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Vol. XXIV. 


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The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxiv. 

JULY, 1902. 

No. 139. 

The House Under the Sea. 

By Max Pemberton. 



HE shot was fired and answered 
at the lower gate. We had 
looked for that : for that we 
had been waiting during the 
watching hours. They would 
attack the lesser reef, we said, 
and our own good men, standing sentinels, 
vrould flash the news of it to us, and the gun 
would do the rest Dark as it was, the 
blackest hour the island had given us, never- 
theless by daylight we had trained our barrels 
upon the reef, and now took aim in all 
confidence. Twice we whistled shrilly to 
trjrn our men ; twice we heard their answer- 
ing voices. Then the gun belched forth its 
hail of shot and the challenge was thrown 

"Give it to them, Dolly ! " I cried, my brain 
afire at the call of action ; " for every honest 
seaman's sake, give it to them, lad ! We'll tell 
of this to morrow — aye, Dolly, well tell a great 

story yet ! " 

He answered me with a boy's glad cry ; I 
do believe it was like a game to him. 

"Pass here, pass here! "he kept crying; 
"we have them every time! In with the 
shot, Seth — in with it! Don't keep them 
waiting ! Oh, captain, what a night ! " 

The others said nothing; even Peter 
Bli^h's tongue was still in that surpassing 
moment. The doubt of it defied words. 
We knew nothing, nor could we do aught but 
leave our fortune to the darkness of the night. 
The rogues who fell, the rogues who stood, 
the boats that came on, the boats that with- 
drew, of these we were ignorant. All was 
hidden from our eyes ; the veil of the night 
cloaked from us the work we had done. If 

VoL xxiv.— 1. 

Digitized by ^ OO Qle 

men cried in agony, if groans mocked angry 
boasts, if we heard the splashing of the oars, 
the hoarse command, the vile blasphemy, 
the rest was in imagination's keeping. The 
outposts of Czerny's crew, we said, had 
tried to rush the gate where our own men 
watched ; but our own were behind the steel 
doors now and the gun's hail swept the barren 
rock. The dawn would show us the harvest 
we had reaped. 

Now the volleys rolled their thunder right 
away to the hills of Ken's Island, and the 
whistling of the bullets was like the singing 
of unseea birds above our heads ; there 
were oases of red flame in the waste of 
blackness ; we heard oaths and cries, com- 
mands roared hoarsely across the water, 
voices triumphant and voices in despair ; 
and then came the first great silence. What- 
ever had befallen on the rock, those who 
sought to force the lesser gate were, for the 
moment, driven back. Even little Dolly, 
mad at the gun like one whom no reason 
could restrain, heard me at last and obeyed 
my command. 

" Cease firing, lad ! " roared I, " cease 
firing ! Would you shoot the sea? Yonder's 
the captain's whistle. It means that the 
danger's nearer. Aye, stand by, lads," I said, 
"and look out for it." 

We swung the gun round *so that it faced 
the basin before us, and, rifles ready, we 
peered again in the lowering darkness. About 
me now I could hear the deep breathing of 
my comrades, and see their crouching 
figures, and say that every nerve was tautened, 
every faculty awakened. Shielded by the 
night, those hidden boats were creeping up 
to us foot by foot. Whatever had been done 
at the lesser gate had been done as a ruse, 

Original from 



I did not doubt. Czerny's goal was the 
greater door we held so desperately ; his 
desire was to win possession of that house 
wherein lay life and treasure and lasting 

I counted twenty, no man speaking, and 
then I raised my voice, Dimly, in the 
shadows, I made out the shape of a long-boat 
drifting to the brink ; and to Dolly I said : — 

" Let go—in Heaven's name, let go, lad ! n 

He stood to 
the gun with a 
cry of defiance 
and blazed into 
the darkness* 
The drifting 
boat lurched 
and sagged and 
turned her 
beam to the 
seas. ] could 
distinguish the 
faces of men, 
ferocious and 
threatening, as 
they jjeered 
upward to the 
rock; I saw 
other boats 
looming over 
the dark water ; 
I heard the 
ringing com- 
mand, " In at 
them ! Down 
with them ! " 
and then, I 
think, for many 
minutes to- 
get her I fired 
wildly at the 
figures before 
me, swung 
round now to 
this side, now 
to that; was 
unconscious of 
the bullets 
splintering the 

rock or of the lead shower pouring on us. 
The battle raged \ we were at the heart of it. 
What should a man remember then but 
those who counted upon him ? 

Now, you have imagined this picture, and 
you seem to stand with me upon that spit of 
rock, that defiant crag in the great Pacific 
Ocean, with the darkness of heaven above 
and the darkness of the sea below, with the 
belching gjns and the spitting rifles, the yells 

Digitized by tiOOglfe 


of agony and the crouching figures, the hearts 
beating high and the sweating faces; and just 
as the outcome was hidden from me and I 
knew not from minute to minute whether it 
were life or death to us, so will you share the 
meaning of that suspense and all the terror 
of it. From every side now the rain of shot 
was poured in upon us, the unceasing torrent 
came ; above, below, ringing upon the iron 
shield, scattering deadly fragments, ploughing 

the waters, it 
fell like a wave 
impotent, a 
broken sea 
whose spindrift 
even could not 
harm us* For 
a good ring of 
steel fenced us 
about ; wc held 
the turret, and 
we laughed at 
the madness 

"Round with 
the gun!' 1 I 
would cry, again 
and again; 
"round with 
her, Dolly. Let 
them have it 
everywhere. No 
favours this 
night, my lad; 
full measure 
and overflowing 
— let them have 
it, for Miss 
Ruth's sake! 1 ' 

His joyous 
"Aye, aye, sir ! " 
was a thing to 
hear. No sailor 
of the old time, 
black with powder, mad on a 
slippery deck, fought, I swear, 
as we four in that shelter of 
the turret. Clear as in the 
sun's day were the waves 
about us while the crimson flame leaped out- 
Crouched all together, the sweat upon our 
foreheads, smoke in our eyes, the wild delight 
of it quickening us, we blazed at the enemy 
unseen ; we said that right was with us* 

There were, so far as I could make out, 
six boats set to the attack upon the great 
gate, and seventy or eighty men manning 
them. A ctin*; together on such a plan as a 
master-mind hod laid down for them, they 


ARK 34 ESS, 1 * 


tried to rush the rock from four points of the 
compass, trusting, it may be, that one boat, 
at least, would land its crew upon the plateau. 
And in this they were successful. Pour shot 
upon them as we might, searcli every quarter 
with the flying shells, nevertheless one boat 
touched the rock in spite of us, one crew 
leaped up in frenzy toward the turret. So 
sudden it was, so unlooked for, that great 
demoniacal figures seemed upon us even 
while we said that the seas were clear. 
Whirling their knives, yelling* one to the 
other, some slipping on the slimy weed, 
others, more sure in foothold, making for 
the turret's height, the mutineers fell upon 
us like a hurricane and so beat us down that 
my heart sank away from me, and I said that 
the house was lost and little Ruth Bellenden 
their prey at last. 

"Stand by the gun — by the gun to the 
last, if you love your life ! " I cried to Dolly 
Venn. 4 * Do you, Peter, old comrade, follow 
me ; I am going to clear the rock. You will 
help me to do that, Peter ? " 

u Help you, captain ! Aye," roared he, 
"if it was the ould divil himself in a 
travelling caravan, I'd help you ! " 

He swung his rifle by the barrel as he 
spoke the words and, bringing it down crash, 
he cleaved the skull of a great ruffian whose 
face was already glowering down from the 
turret's rim. Nothing, I swear, in all that 
night was more wonderful than the sangfroid 
of this great Irishman (as he would call him- 
self in fighting moods) or the merry words 
which he could find for us even then in the 
very crisis of it, when hope seemed gone and 
the worst upon us. For Peter knew well what 
I was about when I leapt from the turret 
and charged down upon the mutineers. A 
dozen men, perchance, had gained foothold 
on the rock. We must drive them back, he 
said ; stand face to face with them, let the 
odds be what they might. 

"Good luck to my arm this hour and 
light for the bald places ! " cries he, leaping 
to the ground and whirling his musket like a 
demon. Seth Barker, do not doubt, was on 
his heels — trust the carpenter to be where 
danger was ! I could hear him grunting even 
above that awful din. He fought like ten, 
and wherever he swung his musket there he 
left death behind him. 

So follow us as we leap from the turret, 
and hurl ourselves upon that astonished crew. 
Black as the place was, tremulous the light, 
nevertheless the cabined space v the open 
plateau, was our salvation. I saw figures 
before me: faces seemed to look into my 

own ; and as a battle-axe of old time, so my 
rifle's butt would fall upon them. Heaven 
knows I had the strength of three and I 
used it with three's agility, now shooting 
them down, now hitting wildly, thrust here, 
thrust there, bullets singing about my ears, 
haunting cries everywhere. Aye, how they 
went under ! What music it was, those 
crashing blows upon head and breast, the 
loud report, the gurgling death-rattle, the 
body thrown into the sea, the pitiful screams 
for mercy ! And yet the greater wonder, 
perhaps, that we lived to tell of it. Twelve 
against three ; yet a craven twelve, remember, 
who feared to die and yet must fight to live ! 
And to nerve our arms a woman's honour, 
and, to guide us aright, the watchword : 
" Home ! " 

I fought my way to the water's edge, and 
then turned round to see what the others 
were doing. There were two upon Peter 
Bligh at that moment, but one fell headlong 
as I took a step toward them ; and the 
other's driving-knife fell on empty air, and 
the man himself, struck full between the 
eyes, rolled dead into the lapping sea. 

II Well done, Peter, well done ! " I cried, 
wildly ; and then, as though it were an 
answer to my boasts, something fell upon my 
shoulder like a great weight dropped from 
above, and I went down headlong upon the 
rock. Turning as I fell, I clutched a 
human throat, and, closing my fingers upon 
it, he and I, the man out of the darkness 
and the fool who had forgotten his eyes, 
went reeling over and over like wild beasts 
that seek a hold and would tear and bite 
when the moment comes. Aye, how I held 
him, how near his eyes seemed to mine, 
what gasping sounds he uttered, how his 
feet fought for foothold on the rock, how 
his hand felt for the knife at his girdle ! And 
I had him always, had him surely ; and seek- 
ing to force himself upward, the slippery rock 
gave him no foothold, and he slipped at last 
from my very fingers, and some great fish, 
hidden from me, drew him down to the 
water and I saw the waves close above his 
mouth. Henceforth there were but three 
men left at the gate of Czerny's house. 
They were three who, even at that time, 
could thank God because the peril was 

We beat the twelve off, as I have told you, 
and for an hour at least no fresh attack 
was made on the rock. The sharpest eye 
now could not detect boats in the darkness ; 
the sharpest ear could not distinguish the 



muffled splash of oars. We 1 iy all together 
in the turret, and very methodically, as 
seamen will, we stanched our wounds and 
asked, " What next ? " That we had some 
hurt of such 
an affray goes 
without say- 
ing. My own 
shoulder was 
bruised and 
aching ; the 
blood still 
trickled down 
Peter Bligh's 
honest face 
from the knife- 
wound that 
had gashed his 
forehead; Seth 
Barker pressed 
his hand to a 
jagged side 
and said that 
it was nothing. 
But fur these 
scratches we 
cared little, 
and when our 
hailed us from 
the lesser gate, 
their "All's 
well ! " made 
us glad men indeed, In 
spile of it all, one of us, 
at least, I witness, could 
tell himself, "It js possible by 
Heaven, it is possible — that we shall 
see the day!" That we had beaten 
off the first attack was not to be 
doubted. Wherever the mutineers 
hdd gone to, they no longer rowed in the 
loom of the gnte. And yet I knew that the 
time must be short ■ day would not serve 
them nor the morning light The dark must 
decide it. 

"They will come again, Peter, and it will 
be before the dawn," said 1, when one thin^ 
and another had been mentioned and no 
word of their misfortune. " It's beyond 
expectation to suppose anything else* If this 
house is to be taken, they must take it in the 
dark. And more than that, lads," said I, "it 
was a foolish thing for us to go among them 
as we did and to fight it out down yonder, 
We are safer in the turret— safer, by a long 
way ! " 

K I thought so all the time, sir," answered 
Dolly Venn, wisely. "They can never get 

Digitized by \Lri 

below if you cover the door ; and I can keep 
the sea. It's lucky Czerny loop-holed this 
place, anyway. If ever I meet him, I shall 
quote poetry: * He nursed the pinion which 
impelled the steel.' It would about 
make him mad, captain ! " 

u Aye," says Peter Bligh, " poetry 
is well enough, as my •poor old 
father used to say ; but poetry 
never reefed a to'gallan' sail in a 
hurricane and 
isn't going to 
b e g i n this 
night. It's 
thick heads 
you need, lad, 
and good, 
sound sense 
inside of Vm ! 
As for what 
the captain 
says, I do hold 
it r truly. But, 
Lord ! I'm like 
a boy at a fair 
when the 
crowns are 
cracking, and 
angels them- 
selves wouldn't 
keep me back." 
affright them. 
Mister Bligh," 
puts in Stth 
Barker,*' you'd 
affright them 
— asking your 
pardon — with 
y o Li r land* 

11 What!" cries Peter, as though in amaze- 
ment ; il did I say things that oughtn't to be 
said ? Well, you surprise me, Barker, you 
do surprise me ! " 

Well, I was glad to hear them talk tike 
this, for jest is better than the cowards 
" if"; and men who can face death with a 
laugh will win life before your craven any 
day, But for the prone figures on the rock, 
looking up with their sightless eyes, or 
huddled in cleft and cranny — hut for them, 
I say, and distant voices on the sea, and the 
black shape of Ken's Island, we four might 
have been merry comrades in a ship's cabin, 
smoking a pipe in the morning watch and 
looking gladly for dawn and a welcome 
shore. Thut this content could long endure 
was, beyond a I! qutsnon,, impossible* Never- 




theless, when next we started up and gripped 
our rifles and cried " Stand by ! " it was not 
any alarm from the sea that brought us to 
our feet, but a sudden shout from the house 
below, a rifle-shot echoing in the depths, a 
woman's voice, and then a man's rejoinder ; 
a figure appearing without any warning at 
the stairs-head, the figure of a huge man, 
vast and hulking, with long yellow hair, 
and fists clenched and arms outstretched — 
a man who took one scared look round 
him and then leaped wildly into the 
sea. Now this, you may imagine, was the 
most surprising event of all that eventful 
night. So quickly did it come upon* us, so 
little did we look fcr it, that when Kess 
Denton, the yellow man, stood at the open 
gate and uttered a loud and piercing yell of 
defiance, not one among us could lift a 
rifle, not one thought of plan or action. 
There the fellow was, laughing like a maniac. 
Why he came, whence he came, no man 
could tell. But he leaped into the sea and 
the night engulfed him, and only his mock- 
ing laugh told us that he lived. 

" Kess Denton ! " cried I, my head dazed 
and my words coming in a torrent ; " Kess 
Denton. Then there's mischief below, lads 
—mischief, I swear ! " 

Clair-de-Lune answered me — old Clair-de- 
Lune, standing in a blaze of light ; for they 
had switched on the lamps below, and the 
vein of the reef stood out suddenly like some 
silver monster breathing on the surface of 
the sea. Clair-de-Lune answered me, I say, 
and his words were the most terrible I had 
heard since first I came to Ken's Island. 

"The water is in ! " he cried, "the water is 
in the house ! " 

I saw it as in a flash. This man we had 
neglected to hunt from the caverns below, 
striking at us in the supreme moment, liad 
opened trap or window and let the sea pour 
in the labyrinth below. The water was flood- 
ing Czerny's house. 

" Now," I cried, " you don't mean that, 
Clair-de-Lune? Then what of the men in 
the engine-room? How will it fare with 
Captain Nepeen ?" 

Doctor Gray stood behind the old French- 
man, and, limping up to my side, he leaned 
against the rock and began to speak of it 
very coolly. 

" The water is in," be said, " but it will 
not flood the higher rooms, for they are 
above sea-level. We are saving what pro- 
visions we can, and the men below are 
all right. As for Nepeen, we must get him 
off in a boat somehow. It is the water I am 

thinking of, captain ; what are we going to 
do for water ? " 

I sat upon the rock at his side and buried 
my face in my hands. All that terrible day 
seemed to culminate in this overwhelming 
misfortune. Driven on the one hand by the 
sea, on the other by these figures of the dark- 
ness, doomed, it might be, to hunger and 
thirst on that desolate rock, four good 
comrades cut off from us by the sea's inter- 
vening, the very shadows full of dangers, 
what hope had we, what hope of that brave 
promise spoken to little Ruth but three short 
hours ago? 

" Doctor," I said at last, "if we are not at 
the bottom of it now, we never shall be. But 
we are men, and we will act as men should. 
Let the women stand together in the great hall 
until the sea drives them out. If water is 
our need, I am ashore to Ken's Island 
to-morrow to get it. As for Nepeen, we 
have a boat and we have hands to man it ; 
we'll fetch Captain Nepeen, doctor," said I. 

He nodded his head and appeared to be 
thinking deeply. Old Clair-de-Lune was the 
next to utter a sensible thing. 

" The man flood the house," said he, " but 
no sure he get to ship. If he drown, Czerny 
know nothing. I say turn out the lamp — 
wait ! " 

"As true a word as the night has spoken," 
said I ; "if Kess Denton does not reach the 
boats, they won't hear the story. We'll keep 
it close enough, lads, and Captain Nepeen 
will learn it soon enough. Do you whistle, 
Dolly, and get an answer. I hope sincerely 
it is all well with them still." 

He whistled across the sea, and after a 
long minute of waiting a distant voice cried, 
" All's well ! " For the hour at least our 
comrades were safe. Should we say the 
same of them when daylight came ? 

The dark fell with greater intensity as the 
dawn drew near. I thought that it typified 
our own black hour, when it seemed that fate 
had nothing left for us but a grave beneath 
the seas or the eternal sleep on the island 

Another hour passed, and the dawn was 
nearer. I did not know then (though I 
know now) what kept Czerny's crew in the 
shadows, or why we heard nothing of them. 
Once, indeed, in the far distance where 
the yacht lay anchored, gun-shots were fired, 
and were answered from some boat lying 
southward by the island ; but no other 
message of the mghl; was vouchsafed to us, 





no other omen to he heard. In the gloom 
of the darkened house women watched, men 
kept the vigil and prayed for the day. Would 
the light never come ; would that breaking 
East never speed its joyous day? Ah ! who 
could tell ? Who, in the agony of waiting, 
ever thinks aright or draws the truthful 
picture ? 

There was no new attack, I say, nor any 
sure news from the caverns below, From 
time to time men went to the stairs-head and 
watched the seas washing green and slimy 
in the corridors, or spoke of them beating 
upon the very steps of the great hall and 
threatening to rise up and up until they 
engulfed us all and conquered even the 
citadel we held. Nevertheless, iron gates 
held them hack. Not vainly had Czerny's 
master-mind foreseen such a misfortune as 
this. Those tremendous doors which divided 
the upper house from its fellow were stronger 
than any sluice-gates, more sure against the 

Digitized by IjOOg J e 

water's advance. We held 
the upper house ; it was ours 
while we could breathe in it 
or find life's sustenance there. 
Now, I saw Miss Ruth in 
the hour of dawn and she 
stood with us for a little 
while at the open gate and 
there spoke so brightly of 
to-morrow, so lightly of this 
hour, that she helped us to 
forget, and made men of us 
once more. 

"They will not come again 
to night, jasper," she said: 
"I feel, I know it! Why 
should they wait? Something 
has happened, and something 
spells 'Good luck/ Oh, yes, 
1 have seen that for the last 
hour. Things must be worse 
before they mend, and they 
are mending now. The gale 
will come at dawn and we 
shall all go ashore, you and 
I together, Jasper ! " 

11 Miss Ruth," said I, " that 
would be the happiest day in 
all my life. You bring the 
dawn always, wherever you 
go, the good sunlight and 
(lod's blue sky ! It has been 
day for me while I heard 
your voice and said that I 
might serve you ! " 

She would not answer me ; 
but, as though to give my 
words their meaning, we had watched but 
a little while longer on the rock when 
suddenly out of the East the grey light 
winged over to us, and, spreading its wonder- 
rays upon the seas, it rolled the black veil 
back and showed us height and valley, sea 
and land, the white-capped breakers and the 
dim heavens beyond them* Many a dawn 
have I watched and waited for on the heart 
of the desolate sea, but never one which 
carried to me such a message as then it 
spake, the joy of action and release, the light 
of life and hope, the tin ion call, uplifting, 
awakening ! For I knew that in day our 
salvation lay, and that the terrible night was 
for ever passed; and every faculty being 
quickened, the mind alert, the eyes no longer 
veiled, I stretched out my arms to the sun 
and said, " Thank God ! " 

It was day, and the fresh sea answered its 
appeal. Coming quickly as day will in the 



great Pacific, we had scarce seen that vast 
rim of the East lift itself above the sparkling * 
water when all the scene was opened to us, 
the picture of boats and water and wave- 
washed reef made clear as in some scene of 
stageland. As with one tongue, realizing a 
mighty truth, we cried, " The ship is gone ; 
the ship has sailed ! " 

It was true, all true. Where at sundown 
there had been a yacht anchored in the 
offing, now at daybreak no yacht was to 
be seen. Darkness, which had been the 
ally of Czerny's men, had helped the man 
himself to flee from them to an unknown 
haven where their vengeance should not 
reach him. By night had he fled, and by 
day would he mock these, his creatures. 
Drifting there in the open boats, the rising 
seas beginhing to wash in upon them, 
hunger and thirst their portion, the rebels 
were at no pains to hide their secret from us. 

We knew that they had been called back 
by these overwhelming tidings of the master- 
trick, and we asked what heart they would 
have to sell their lives for the man who 
betrayed them ? 

Would they not look to us for the satis- 
faction the chief rogue denied to them? 
We, as they, were left helpless in that woeful 
place. Before us, as before them, lay the 
peril of hunger and of thirst, the death-sleep 
or the greater mercy. And who should ask 
them to accept it without a last supreme 
attempt, a final assault, which should mend 
all or end all ? Driven to the last point, to 
the last point would they go to grasp that 
foothold of the seas, and to drive us from 
the rock whereon life might yet be had. 

" Lads," I said, " the story is there as the 
man has written it. We have no quarrel with 
yon poor creatures nor they with us ; but 
they will find one. We cannot help them ; 
they cannot help us. We'll wait for the end 
— just wait for it." 

I spoke with a confidence which time did 
not justify. Just as the dawn had put new 
life into us, so it had steeled the hearts of 
this derelict crew and nerved it for any 
desperate act. For long we watched the 
rogues rowing hither, thither; now in the 
island's shadows, now coming toward us, 
but never once raising a rifle or uttering a 
threat. In the end they came all together, 
waving a sail upon a pole ; and while they 
appeared to row for the lesser gate they 
accompanied the act with soft words and a 
protest of their honesty. 

"'Tis after a truce they are," says Peter 
Bligh, presently, "and that's a poor thing, 
Vol, **w,-2, * 

anyway. My poor father used to say, * Knock 
'em on the head first and sign the papers 
afterwards.' He was a kind-hearted gentle- 
man, and did a lot of good in the world ! " 

" He must have done, Peter," said I ; "he 
must have done a power of good, hearing the 
little you say about him. Tis a pity the old 
gentleman isn't here this day to preach his 
kindness to yonder rogues. They look in 
need of a friendly hand ; indeed, they do." 

Well, the laugh was turned on Peter ; but, 
as a matter of fact, he spoke sense, and I 
understood as well as he did the risk of 
parley with the wreckers, even though they 
did not seem to have any fight left in them — 
a fact which old Clair-de-Lune was the first 
to observe. 

" They not fire gun this morning," says the 
old man. " All starve, hungry. Czerny gone. 
What for they fight? They no stomach 

" Meaning they've no heart in them," puts 
in Doctor Gray, at his side. " Aye, that's 
true, and a bit of human nature, too. You 
cannot fight every day any more than you 
can make love every day. It comes and 
goes like a fever. They had their square 
meal last night, and they are not taking any 
this morning. I should not be afraid of 
them if I were you, captain." 

11 1 never was," said I, bluntly ; " I never 
was, doctor. . There's not enough on my 
conscience for that. But I do believe you 
speak truly. Making love is more in their 
line this watch. Ask Dolly Venn there. 
From what I saw between him and little 
Rosamunda down below, he's an authority 
on that point. Eh, Dolly, lad," said I to 
him, "you could make love every day, 
couldn't you ? " 

The lad flushed all over his face at the 
charge, and Peter Bligh, he said something 
about "Love one another" being in the 
Bible, " which must mean many of 'em, and 
not one in particular," says he. And what 
with the laugh and the jest, and the new 
confidence which the sight of those poor 
driven souls put into us, we came all 
together to the sea's edge, and, scarcely 
cocking a rifle at them, we hailed the long- 
boats and got their story. 

" Ahoy, there ! And what port d'you 
think you're making for ? " cries Peter Bligh, 
in a voice that might have split the waters. 

They replied to him, standing up in the 
boat and stretching out their sunburnt, hairy 
arms to us : — 

" Water ! — water, mate, for the love of 
Heaven ! " 





11 And how do you know," cries Peter back 
to them, " how do you know that we've water 
tor ourselves ? " 

" Why, Barebones saw to that," says one of 
them, no doubt meaning Czerny thereby; 
"Barebones saw to that, though precious 
little of it the lubber drank ! " 

" He's off, is Barebones," says another ; 
" oh, trust Barebones ! Bones-and-Biscuits 
puts to sea last night, 'cause he's a duty to 
perform in 'Frisco, he 'as. Trust Bones-and- 
Biscuits to turn up righteous when the 
trumpet blows ! " 

And another, said he : — 

" I wish I had his black head under my 
boot this minute ! My mouth's all sand and 
my throat is stuck ! Aye, mates," says he, 
" you'll moisten my poor tongue — same as is 
wrote in the Scriptures ! " 

There were other entreaties ; some of them 
spoke to us in French, the most part in 
German. Of the boats that were left, two 
had rowed away for the lesser gate, but 
five drifted about our rock and drew so close 
that we could have tossed a biscuit to them. 
Never have I seen a crowd of faces more 
repulsive, or jowls so repellent. Iron-limbed 
men, fat Germans, sleek Frenchmen, Greeks, 
niggers, some armed with rifles, some with 
fearsome knives, they squatted all together 
in the open boats and roared together for 
pity and release. Then, for the first time, I 
was able to see how cruelly Czerny 's gun had 
dealt with them in the darkness of the night. 
It was horrible to see the mangled limbs, the 
open wounds, the matted hair, the gaping 
faces of these creatures of a desperado's mad 
ambition. The boats themselves were splin- 
tered and hacked as though heavy hatchets 
had beaten them. I could wonder no longer 
that they called the truce ; and yet, knowing 
why they called it, what was I to do ? Let 
them set foot on the plateau, and we, but a 
handful at the best, might be swept into the 
sea like flies from a wall. I say that I was 
at my wits' end. Every merciful instinct 
urged me to give them water ; every prudent 
voice cried, " Beat them off." 

" If there's fight in that lot, I'm as black 
as yonder nigger ! " said Peter Bligh, when 
he had looked at them a little while, very con- 
temptuously. " Not a kick to-day among 
the lot of them, by Jericho. But you cannot 
give them water, captain," he goes on, " for 
you've little to give." 

Clair-de-Lune, thinking deeper, was, never- 
theless, for a stern refusal. 

" Keep them off, captain, that's my 
advice," says he. " They very desperate, 

Digitized by dOOglC 

dangerous men. They drink water, then cut 
throat. Make ear deaf and say cistern all 
empty. They think you die, and they wait ; 
but come aboard— no, not at all ! " 

Now, I knew that this was reason, and 
when Doctor Gray and Captain Nepeen 
added their words to the Frenchman's I 
stepped down to the water's edge and made 
my answer. 

" I'll give you water willingly, men, if 
you'll show me where it is to be found," said 
I ; " but we cannot give what we haven't got, 
and that's common sense ! We're dry here, 
and if it's bad luck for one it's bad luck for 
all. The glass says rain," I went on ; "we'll 
wait for it together and have done with all 
this nonsense." 

They heard me to the end ; but ignorant, 
perhaps, of my meaning they continued to 
whine, " Water, water," and when I repeated 
that we had no water, one of them, leaping 
up in the boat, fired his rifle point-blank 
at Captain Nepeen, who fell without a word 
stone-dead at my side. 

" Good heavens ! " said I, " they've shot the 
captain dead." 

The suddenness of it was awful ; just a 
gun flashing, a gasping cry, an honest man 
leaping up and falling lifeless. And then 
something that would never move or speak 
again. The crews themselves, I do believe, 
were as dazed by it as we were. They could 
have shot us, I witness, where we stood, 
every man of us, but, in God's mercy, they 
never thought of that ; and turning on their 
own man they tore the rifle from his hand 
and, striking him down with a musket, they 
sent him headlong into the sea. 

" Witness we've no part in it ! " they roared. 
"Jake Bilbow did it, and he was always a bad 
'un ! You won't charge fifty with one man's 
deed ! Down under with the arms, mates — 
we've no need of 'em ! " 

Well, we heard them in amazement. Not 
a man had moved among us ; the body was 
untouched at our feet. From the boats them- 
selves ruffians were casting their rifles pell- 
mell into the sea. Never at the wildest 
hazard would I have named this for the end 
of it. They cast their rifles into the sea and 
rowed unarmed about us. To the end of it, 
I think, they feared the gun with a fear that 
was nameless and lasting, nor did they 
know that the turret was empty — how should 
they ? 

It was a swift change ; to me it seemed as 
though the day had conjured up this wonder. 
None the less, the perplexity of it remained, 
nor could I choosy a course even under these 



new circumstances. Of water I had none 
to give ; our own condition, indeed, was 
little better than that of these unhappy 
creatures in the boats about me. The sea 
flooded the house below us ; the great engine 
no longer throbbed ; our women were 
huddled together at the stairs-head, seeking 
air and light ; the fog loomed heavy on Ken's 
Island ; no ship's sail brought hope to our 
horizon. What should I say, then, to the 
mutineers, how answer them? I could but 
protest: "We are as you; we must face it 

Now, I have told you that both the greater 
and the lesser gate of Czerny's house were 
hewn it) the pinnacles of rock rising up above 
the highest tides, and offering there a foot- 
hold and an anchorage ; but you must not 
think that these were the only caps of the 
reef which thrust themselves out to the 
sea. For there were others, rounded domes 
of tide washed rock, treacherous ledges, little 
craggy steeples, sloping shelves, which low 
water gave up to the sun and where a man 
might walk dry-shod. To such strange 
places the long-boats turned when we would 
have none of them. Convinced, maybe, 
that our own case was no better than theirs, 

the men, in desperation, and cramped with 
long confinement in the boats, now pushed 
their bows into the swirling waters ; and fol- 
lowing each other, as sheep will follow a 
leader, they climbed out upon the barren 
rocks and lay there in a state of dejection 
defying words. Nor had we any heart to 
turn upon them and drive them off Little 
did the new day we desired so ardently bring 
to us. The sky, gloomy above the blackening, 
angry seas, was like a mock upon our bravest 
hopes. Let a few hours pass and the night 
would come again. This was but an inter- 
lude in which man could ask of mnn, " What 
next ? " We feared to speak to the women 
lest they should know the truth, 

The men crawled upon the sea- washed 
rocks, I say, and there the judgment of God 
came upon them. So awful was the scene 
my eyes were soon to behold that I take 
up my pen with hesitation even now to write 
of it ; and as I write some figure of the 
shadows comes before me and seems to say, 
"You cannot speak of it ! It is of the past, 
forgotten ! " And, certainly, if I could make 
it clear to you how Czerny's men were for 
ever driven off from the gate of the house 
that Czerny built, if I could make it clear to 
you and leave the thing untold, that would I 

1 THE WHOLE WATliK A do IT niK tftKr WAS HCHV a LIVE.'' 






do right gladly. But the end was not of my 
seeking ; in all honesty I can say that if it 
had been in my power I would have helped 
those wretched creatures, have dealt out pity 
to them and carried them to the shore ; but 
it was written otherwise ; a higher Power 
decreed it ; we could but stand, trembling 
and helpless, before that enthralling justice. 

They climbed on the rocks, forty or fifty of 
them, maybe, and lying in all attitudes, some 
stretched out full length, some with their arms 
in the flowing tide, some huddled close as 
though for warmth, they appeared to 
surrender themselves to the inevitable and 
to accept the worst ; when, rising up out of 
the near sea, the first octopus showed him- 
self, and a great tentacle, sliding over the 
rock, drew one of the mutineers screaming to 
the depths. Thereafter, in an instant, the 
whole terror was upon them. Leaping up 
together, they uttered piercing cries, turned 
upon each other in their agony, hurled 
themselves into the sea to reach the boats 
again. Ah ! how few of them touched the 
befriending prows ! The whole water about 
the reef was now alive with the devilish 
creatures ; a hundred arms, crushing, suck- 
ing, swept the unsheltered rocks and drew 
the victims down. So near were they, some 
of them, that I could see their staring eyes 
and distorted limbs as, in the fishes' em- 
bracing grip, they were drawn under to the 
gaping mouths, or pressed close to that jellied 
mass which must devour them. The sea 
itself heaved and splashed as though to be 
the moving witness of that horrible attack ; 
foam rushed up to our feet ; a blinding spray 
was in the air ; eyes protruded even in the 
green water; great shapes wormed and 
twisted, rending one another, covering the 
whole reef with their filthy slime, sending 
blinding fountains to the high pinnacles, or 
sinking down when their prey was taken to 
the black depths where no eye could follow 
them. What sounds of pain, what resound- 
ing screams, rent the air in those fearful 
minutes ! I draw the veil upon it. Por all 
the gold that the sea washes to-day in 
Czerny's house, I could not look upon such 
a picture again. For death can be a gentle 
thing ; but there is a death no man may 
speak of. 

At twelve o'clock the clouds broke and 
the rain began to fall upon a rising sea. 
The vapours still lay thick upon Ken's 
Island, but the wind was driving them, and 
they rolled away in misty clouds westward to 
the dark horizon. 

jiiized by \j009 Ic 

I went below to little Ruth, and in broken 
words I told her all my story. 

" Little Ruth, the night is passed, the day 
is breaking ! Ah, little Ruth ! " 

She fell into my arms, sobbing. The 
sleep-time was past, indeed ; the hour of 
our deliverance at hand. 



I have told you the story of Ken's Island, 
but there are some things you will need 
to know, and of these I will now make 
mention. Let me speak of them in order 
as they befell. 

And first I should record that we found 
the body of Edmond Czerny, cold and dead, 
by that pool in the woods where so many 
have slept the dreadful sleep. Clair -de- 
Lune stumbled upon it as we went joyously 
through the sunny thickets and, halting 
abruptly, his startled cry drew me to the 
place. And then I saw the thing, and knew 
that here was God's justice written in words 
no man might mistake. 

For a long time we rested there, looking 
down upon that grim figure in its bed of 
leaves, and watching the open eyes seeking 
that bright heaven whose warmth they never 
would feel again. As in life, so in death, the 
handsome face carried the brand of the evil 
done, and spoke of the ungoverned passions 
which had wrecked so wonderful a genius. 
There have been few such men as Edmond 
Czerny since the world began ; there will be 
few while the world endures. Greatly daring, 
a man of boundless ambitions, the moral 
nature obliterated, the greed of money be- 
coming, in the end, like some burning disease, 
this man, I said, might have achieved much 
if the will had bent to humanity's laws. And 
now he had reaped as he sowed. The cloak 
that covered him was the cloak of the 
Hungarian regiment whose code of honour 
drove him out of Europe. The diamond 
ring upon the finger was the very ring that 
little Ruth had given him on their wedding- 
day. The agony he had suffered was such 
as many a good seaman had endured since 
the wreckers came to Ken's Island. And 
now the story was told : the man was 

" It must have been last night," I said, at 
length, to Clair-de-Lune. " His own men 
put him ashore and seized the ship. Fortune 
has strange chances, but who would have 
named such a chance as this? The rogues 
turned upon him at last, you can't doubt it. 




died in his sleep -a merciful 
shook his head very 


And he 

The old 

u I know not," said he, slowly ; u remem- 
ber how rare that the island give mercy ! 
We will not ask 
how he died, 
captain. I see 
something, but 
I forget it Let 
us leave him to 
the night." 

He began to 
cover the body 
with branches 
and boughs; 
and anon, mark- 
ing the place, 
that we might 
return to it to- 
rn o r r o w , we 
went on again 
through the 
woods, as men 
in a reverie. 
Our schemes 
and plans, our 
hopes and fears, 
the terrible 
hours, the un- 
forgotten days, 
aye, if we could 
have seen that 
the end of them 
would have 
been this ! the 
gift of the ver- 
durous island, 
and the ripe 

green pastures, and the woods awakening and 
all the glory of the sun-time reborn ! For 
so the shadow was lifted from us that for a 
little while our eyes could not see the light ; 
and, unbelieving, sve asked, ** Is this the 
* truth } " 

I did not tell little Ruth the story of the 
woods ; but there were whispered words and 
looks aside, and she was clever enough to 
understand them. Before the day was out 
I think she knew ; but she would not speak 
of it, nor would I. For why should we call 
false sorrow upon that bright hour? Was 
not the world before us, the awakening glory 
of Ken's Island at our feet? Just as in the 
dark days all Nature had withered and bent 
before the death-giving vapours* so now did 
Nature answer the sun's appeal ; and every 


freshet bubbling over, every wood alive with 
the music of the birds, the meadows green 
and golden > the hills all capped with their 
summer glory, she proclaimed the reign of 
Nature's God. No sight more splendid ever 
greeted the eyes of shipwrecked men or 

welcomed them 
to a generous 
shore. Hand in 
hand with little 
Ruth I passed 
from thicket to 
thicket of the 
woods, and 
seemed to stand 
in Paradise 
itself ! And she 
—ah, who shall 
read a woman's 
thought* at such 
an hour as that? 
Let me be con- 
tent to see her 
as she was : her 
face grown 
girlish in that 
great release, 
her eyes spark- 
ling in a new 
joy of being, her 
step so light 
that no blade m 
of grass could*' 
have been 
bruised thereby. 
Let me hear 
her voice again 
while she lifts 
her face to 
mine and asks 
even now I hear 

me thnt question which 
sometimes: - 

"Jasper, Jasper I is it real ? How can 1 
believe it, Jasper ? Shall we see our home 
again — you and I ? Oh, tell me that it is 
true, Jasper— say it often, often, or I shall 
forget ! " 

We were in a high place of the woods just 
then, and we stood to look down upon the 
lower valley where the rocks showed their 
rare green mosses, and every crag lifted 
strange flowers to the sun, and little rivulets 
ran down with bubbling sounds. Away on 
the open veldt the doll-like houses were to be 
seen, and the ashes of her bungalow. And 
there, I say, all the scene enchanting me, and 
the memory of the bygone days blotted from 
my mind, ant! no vitur- tu be thought of but 
that whjjjj^^^^r the right 



to befriend this little figure of my dreams, I 
said : — 

"It is true, little Ruth— God knows how 
true — that a man loves you with all his heart, 
and he has loved you all through these weary 
months. Just a simple fellow he is, with no 
fine ways and small knowledge of the world ; 
but he waits for you to tell turn that you will 
lift him up and make him worthy " 

She silenced me with a quick, glad cry, 
and, winding both her arms about my neck, 
she hid her lace from me. 

We were picked up by the American 
warship Ha iter as ten days after the sleep- 
time passed, I left the island as I found 
ft — its secrets hidden, its mysteries un- 
f at homed* What vapour rises up there — 
whether it be, as Doctor Gray would have 
it, from the marshy bog of decaying vege- 
tation, which breathes fever to the south ; 
whether it be this marsh fog steaming up 
when the plants die down ; or whether it 
be a subtler cloud given out by the very 
earth itself — this question, I say, let the 

'SIN-: SlLENCfcD ME WITH A <JULCK, <\V.\\\ CKV, ' 

" My friend 3 Jasper, dear Jasper, you 
shall not say that ! Ah, were you so blind 
that you have riot known it from the first ? "' 

Her words were like the echo of some 
sweet music in my ears. Little Ruth, my 
beloved, had called me "friend." To my 
life's end would I claim that name most 

learned dispute. I have done with it for 
ever ; and never, to my life's end, shall I 
see its heights and its valleys again. The 
world calls me; I go to my home. Ruth, 
little Ruth, whom I have loved, is at my 
side. For us it shall be sun-time always : 
the night and the dreadful sleep are no 


by Google 

Original from 

Ca/vS ; Artist and PVoman. 

By Kathleen Schlesinger, 

" TAe perfection of art is to cmceai ar//'— QtnNTlUAN, 

HIEF among the enjoyments 
i Covent < harden afforded 
me last season was the oppor- 
tunity of seeing Calve in an 
entirely new light : Calve' at 
work on a new impersonation. 
The role of Messaline was new to her, and 
her London admirers in front of the curtain 
thus had the delight of witnessing Calv^ 
under the influence of a fresh conception, 
oblivions of all else, living only in the new 
world created by her art. 

About M. de Lara's opera there was a 
diversity of opinion, but Calv£ was supreme. 
To watch this incomparable artist at work is 
a revelation, Before she learns a note of 
the music of a new part Calvi studies the 
character thoroughly from every point of 
view f assiduously reading any books that can 
help her, until she has identified herself with 
her heroine ; then, while she is mastering the 
technical part, the impersonation grows upon 

the music he has to conduct M, de Lara 
presided at the piano. 

The principal scenes were gone through 
carefully with perseverance and enthusiasm. 
The composer always knew to a shade the 
tone-colour he wanted and the impression he 
wished produced. If the singer did not at 
once catch his meaning, the others often 
helped to make it clear. For instance, when 
Hares (M. Seveilhac, on the right in the 
photograph) had to sing the words, i( Comme 
il fait nuit ! " and did not at once seize the 
composers intention, it was Cake with her 
inimitable realism- who prompted him and 
first imparted to the common place phrase its 
expression of pregnant horror and shuddering 
terror* All this is taken as a matter of 
course, and the give-and-take is accepted 
with perfect grace. 

The next rehearsal was of quite a different 
kind. M- Berge, a co-repciitcnr^ presided at 
the piano, and Calve and M. Seveilhac 


Iier— first a broad outline and later the 
details. She had reached this stage when 
the first concerted rehearsal took place in the 
foyer at Cove tit Garden ; all the principals 
were present, and M. Flon t who never loses 
an opportunity of strengthening his grasp of 

cngthening his grasp c 

studied their stage business with M. Almanz, 
who gave them a rough outline of their 
positions on the stage for the various scenes, 
in order to facilitate the srenic rehearsals 
later on and to render them less fatiguing. 
Calve entered with a radiant smile and 




greeted her colleagues warmly with the 
charming grace which is natural to her, and 
was at once ready to begin work. 

After the first photograph, taken in the 
serious mood which work demands, I begged 
her to give me one of her smiles for the 
next. With a gleeful laugh, and her eyes 
twinkling with mischief, she said : " I will 
just tell M. Ron a merry little tale ! " 

The scenic rehearsals are, of course, 
the most interesting; the conception of the 
role begins to crystallize. Before, the glow 
of Messaline's passion was in Calve's voice, 
now it is embodied and living: her face 
throughout is a study. Things do not always 
go right from the first ; the scenery, by no 
means complete, is only indicated here and 
there, much being left to the imagination ; 
sometimes some of the characters are per- 
force absent. 

Calve is all earnestness at these limes, 
and throws herself so thoroughly 
into her work that she is 
quite exhausted when the re- 
hearsal is over. She frequently 
steps up to the footlights and 
pleads, with one of her bewitch- 
ing smiles : " I should 
like to go over that 
again ! " 

The composer, mean- 
while, is all activity and 
walks miles : one mo- 
ment he is standing at 
the back of the stalls 
critically listening 
and watching the 
effects he has 
planned — the 
next sees him 
wildly gesticulat- 
ing among the 
chorus up stage* 
or pointing out 
that the action 
must take place 
farther to the right 
or nearer the foot- 

Except for the 
dress rehearsal, 
most of the 
singers wear 
morning dress. 
Calve's exquisite Mev 
saline costumes of 
clinging crepe-de- 
chine, with borders of 
designs painted by hand} 

which is worth a singer's ransom, would soon 
lose their freshness if worn at rehearsals. A 
long black cloak did duty on this occasion 
for the regal red mantle with which she con- 
ceals her horror-stricken face in the last act. 

Sometimes an ill-wind blows and the air 
becomes sultry. VVhen Ca!v£ is annoyed 
there is generally just cause for it, as ? fur 
instance, when she has to sing a duet or go 
through a tefe-a-teU scene by herself because 
the other singer has not appeared : her face 
then becomes sombre ; she sings, but her soul 
is not in her song, the divine fire no longer 
burns. Absence from rehearsal is a grave 
injustice, a great discourtesy to all who are 
collaborating, and doubly so when oppor- 
tunities for scenic rehearsals are necessarily 
limited ; such a thing would not be tolerated 
in Germany, where art is taken very seriously 

and opera-house 
regulations are 


t.:a< li of 





devoid of elasticity- There are no airs 
and graces about Calve" : she is absolutely 
natural and unaffected ; and it speaks 
highly for her as a woman that after re- 
ceiving ovations wherever she goes, and 
being the object of so much heroine-worship, 
she should remain quite unspoilt, simple, and 

11 1 really have no talent for music/' she 
said to me one day when talking of her work, 
11 I tried to learn the piano once, hut it an- 
noyed me and I gave it up. The mechanical 
means of expression act as a clog upon the 

" It is just the same in opera," she con- 

From a Photo, by] 


[Rt uil in >.."■-. PariM. 

modest. One never discovers in Calve the 
least conceit or self-assertion, and she always 
speaks most humbly of her musical per- 

" Dear friend^ I was very bad last night, 
was I not?" she asked M. Flon, somewhat 
as a child might who expected lo he rebuked, 
on one occasion when she had made some 
little slip and kept the orchestra waiting 

stra waiting. 


tinued, her expressive face reflecting her 
feelings as she spoke ; " the rhythm thwarts 
me and hedges me in. I should often like 
to dwell on a phrase or emphasize an aciion 3 
but bars and beats keep me back or else 
hurry me on and interfere sadly with my 
conception of the role. 

<( No. I do not care so much for rich 
harmonies a^rigM^friSWHsia What I love 


1 8 


is the simple music of the people ; the songs 
— fcs plain-chants —of my native Aveyron ; 
they stir me to my innermost soul, for they 
are the expression of the hardy rare of 
mountaineers from which I am descended. 
As to the operas in which I sing, oh, yes, 1 
am interested in all my roles; I love them, 
for they form part of my life, bot I often feel 
a longing for something higher and better — 
something that would satisfy my mind. I 
should prefer to be an actress. Then there 
would be none of the restraint that music 
imposes; I should be free to work out my 

" In fact" — and she insensibly lowered her 
voice — "if I were to lose my voice, as I have 
at times feared I might, I should really be 
rather glad, for then I could, without com- 
punction, leave the operatic stage for the 
legitimate drama. As long as people like to 
hear me sing I feel bound to use the ipft 
which has enabled me to help my family and 
relations for many years/' 

The truth is that Calvf is before all a 
born actress, 

The divine Sarah, when 
asked whom she con 
sidered the finest actress 
in the world, replied, with- 
out a moment's hesitation, 
w Calv£ is the greatest artist 
of us all ! " 

"Sometimes my friends 
accuse me of being mer- 
cenary for accepting these 
brilliant engagements to 
America, instead of remain- 
ing in my own country. 
But I tell them that I want 
the money —it means com- 
fort and happiness to so 
many dear ones." 

Calves voice is deeply 
moving ; the limpid, bell- 
like upper register and 
the velvety, tender 
lower notes are used 
by her with con sum 
mate art in all sin- 
cerity ; but would a 
blind man listening to 
her Carmen or San- 
tuzza receive any ade- 
quate impression of her 
impersonation ? The 
thing is impossible. 
Not one movement, one swift glance or 
fleeting expression of her beautiful face 
can we afford to miss ; her movements 

are not studied — nor is her Carmen always 
the same at every performance — they come 
naturally because Calve is Carmen for the 
time being. 

She enters, her lithe body swaying grace- 
fully as she walks, a flower between her lips, 
perfidious and provoking. The subtlety of 
her singing of " L 'amour est un oiseau re- 
belle 3 " known as the Habanera, and the 
ironical, menacing cynicism with which she 
emphasizes "1'amour" are wonderful. She 
reproduces to the life the typical Tsigana, 
the gipsy who pines for freedom, and is in 
turn sensuous, hard, cruel, passionate, be- 
witching, and perverse. From her first note 
she seizes upon the audience and holds it 
captive, spell-bound until the last. 

I had gone to Calves dressing - room 
between the acts, and found her slipping 
into the black and silver spangled dress she 
wears in the last act. She chatted away in 
her merriest mood while adding the finish- 
ing touches to the loose knot of blue- 
black hair, and fastening in the coquettish 


j ner movements 


From a Photo* by Bmquf. Farti. 

Original from 



flower which nestles in the nape of her 

"Je suis une vraie gamine, n'est-ce pas, 
conime Carmen ? Cest que je fais des polis- 
sonneries terribles \ n and her eyes sparkled 
with mischievous amusement* "I quite 
enjoy it, I assure } T ou j it is great fun, and 
then, of course, it is Carmen !" 

The friend who was helping her dress 
inked whether she would wear any rings. 

"Why, of course/ 1 she replied ; Lt Madame 
Torrfodor is a person of importance now, 
you know, She is quite a rich 
woman and has plenty of jewels/' 

While speaking Calve absently put 

tions. There was a camp of Tsiganas in 
the neighbourhood of the village ; they 
fascinated me, and I watched them eagerly 
and picked up some of their dances, Many 
years later, when I returned to Spain :o 
study Carmen among the cigarette- makers 
of Seville and the Tsiganas, the steps came 
back readily to me and I learnt all their 
graceful dances. 

41 1 took MerimeVs hook with me and 
pondered over it day and night while living 
among the factory girls. I watched them 


From a Photo, bv ftmtto, furf*, 

on one or two rings, and then, looking criti- 
cally at her hands : — 

li No," she cried, " that will not do at alt ; 
they look too distinguL I must wear some- 
thing more showy/' 

When I asked her where she learnt 
the bewitching dances of the gipsies, she 
replied: — 

"When I was a child of seven I was sent 
to Spain to visit some of my fathers rela- 

with their lovers ; studied them in joy, 
sorrow, and anger, I noted how their love 
is a mixture of passion, jealousy, and 
brutality ; tenderness being exceedingly rare, 
and I remained among them until I could 
understand them thoroughly and feel as they 
did. Carmen is my most realistic study, and 
the next is Ophelia/' 

Calve's Ophelia is quite a new creation, 
as far removed from that consecrated by 
tradition as the East is from the West- In 
her madness she is masterful, wild, and 
violent, and this js how Calve accounts for 
her conception of iihakespeare's heroine : — 




"Ophelia was passionately in love, and her 
love drove her mad When I was in Milan 
I met a celebrated specialist in mental 
diseases, and as I was then studying Ophelia 
I asked him what he thought of her case, 
'How do you picture this dreamy, love-sick 
girl?' I asked him. 

"He replied that it was 
the greatest mistake, in 

Prom a J'hviu. bv Rentiinger, Parit, 

his opinion, to picture her gentle, and he 
offered to take me then and there to an 
asylum in Milan where a case similar to that 
of Ophelia had come under his notice. 
There we found a pale, fair girl — like an 
English girl— who on being deserted by her 
lover had lost her reason. She was a prey 
to fits of violence and terrible anger, but 

Digitized by VjOOQ I C 

it was her terror that most affected me ; it 
was pitiable, but intensely dramatic. She 
would offer visitors any object that she 
could get hold of f only to take it back 
suddenly in a fit of anguish, I left the 
mad-house profoundly impressed, and could 
not forget the scene, nor 
dissociate it from Ophelia." 
Calve does not know 
English well enough to read 
Shakespeare in the original, 
but she had " Hamlet JJ 
translated U> her line by 
line, that she might know 
the play inde- 
pendently of the 

Calve first 
sang Hamlet in 
Italy during the 
eighties — in 
Rome, Naples, 
Milan, and 
Florence — then 
later in Eng- 
land, America, 
St Petersburg, 
.. ml Madrid ; 
and it was not 
until May, 1899, 
that her Ophelia 
was made 
known to Paris- 
ins at the 
(Irand Opera. 
The main facts 
of Calves 
career are 
familiar to 
her admirers 
all the world 
over, but 
what fol- 
lows, told as 
well as my 
serves me 
in Calves own words, is 
not generally known ; — 
4t I was a lively, com- 
monplace little mortal, 
with plenty of spirits and a love of fun + I 
romped with my brother and sisters, frolicked 
in the fields with the lambs, chased the 
butterflies, watched the maids milk the cows, 
pi-eped into tin- dairy, and helped to make 
butter and cheese. 

t( 1 )id I care for toys ? Oh, yes. I used 
to skip and play at ball and fly kites with my 




brother, and run races. To this day I dearly 
love snow-balling, in which I still indulge in 
America sometimes. 

" Then there was my doll ; I loved her 
very dearly and remember her well. You 
must not imagine she was a great beauty — 
one of those elegant Paris creations with 
lovely curls, a faultless complexion, and little 
pearly teeth. No ; we were brought up like 
Spartans — our toys were of the simplest 
description and mostly home-made. 

"Mine was a rag-doll, with a painted face 
and a red cotton handkerchief tied round her 
for a frock. I used to rock her to sleep, kiss 
and love her, and then sometimes, when I 
was in a naughty mood, I tossed her out of 
the window, only to run out immediately in 
an agony of remorse to pick up the poor 
darling tenderly and hug her passionately, 
vowing never to be unkind to her again. I 
went to a convent school at St. Affrique — 
in the great cheese district, you know — and 
there I used to sing with the other children, 
but I was no prodigy ; my voice was in no 
way remarkable. 

"Sometimes when we were together in 
recreation time the girls would gather round 
me and say, c Do sing us something, Emma ! ' 
Then, as the mood seized me, I would sing 
a song of passionate sadness and set all the 
girls crying, or else I stood up and sang 
some song I had heard in the village, un- 
consciously mimicking the rough gestures 
and action of the peasants and their patoh % 
or the drinking songs of the soldiers as they 
sat in the garden of the inn. I often got 
into trouble for this, for, of course, the good 
sisters were horrified at some of the ditties I 
repeated in my innocence. 

" We sang romances and hymns, and acted 
little plays at the distribution of prizes, and 
my mother thought I had a pretty voice and 
a fine talent. 

" When my father, who was an engineer, 
died and left very little money, I was 
fifteen, and there were many little mouths to 
feed. My mother, foreseeing the possibilities 
of a future for my voice, decided that I 
should go to Paris and study singing, but 
none of us had any thought of the theatre. 
As to me, I was very pious and mystic in my 
girlhood, and thought I had a vocation, and 
looked forward to taking the veil. However, 
I did not make any objection to go to Paris, 
for I was very docile, and was most anxious 
to help my family. If I had been told I 
was to be married I should have agreed to 
that just as readily. 

" My mother's family, of which I am very 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

proud, is descended from the grand old race 
of the Albigenses, who fought with stern 
determination, not for wealth and posses- 
sions, but for a mere idea and for their 
religion. My aunts and grandmother were 
all fervently religious, and were very fine 
characters and noble women, whose memory 
I cherish with the deepest veneration. 

" One of my aunts in particular I shall 
never forget. She lived at I^a Bastide, and 
I always spent my holidays with her. She 
was very dear to me — like a second mother, 
in fact — and was a very noble woman. After 
I had made my first success in the world I 
longed to get back to my village home in 
Aveyron ; my first visit was to have been to 
my aunt at la Bastide, but to my great grief 
only her grave remained and a life-long 

" My first real appearance in public was at 
Nice, at a charity concert. At the last 
moment the Vicomtesse de Vigier, the popular 
Mile. Crivelli of the Opera, failed the com- 
mittee, and I was called upon at a moment's 
notice to take her place. Yes, of course I 
remember what I sang — 'Etoile que j'aime.' 
The praise and compliments I received 
decided me to study singing in earnest, and 
I went to Paris and studied under Puget 
and Mme. Marchesi, and later Mme. Rosina 
Laborde, who made me work very hard. I 
was far from being an artist then— I only had 
a pretty voice ; it was in Italy that the great 
awakening came, when I was thrown with 
great artists, and more especially with Duse. 
Just at that time I fell seriously ill, and 
during a long convalescence I suddenly 
understood the making of a real artist, and 
realized that in order to become one I must 
forget my voice, only to think of what I had 
to express. 

" I felt a growing longing to stir in other 
people the emotion which possessed my own 
soul. I awoke at the same time to moral 
consciousness, and it seemed to me that I 
was born again for art and suffering." 

One of Calves greatest embodiments 
of suffering is in the last act of "Sapho" 
(Massenet), when the heroine, convinced 
•that the good of the man she loves demands 
the sacrifice of her love, sits down and writes 
a farewell letter to him as he lies asleep on 
the sofa beside her ; then putting on her 
cloak (as in the photograph reproduced on 
the next page) she takes a last, long look at 
him and leaves him for ever. 

Calves home in Aveyron, known as the 
Chateau de Cabrieres, but which she 
familiarly styles fyfjr n a|ffnV is perched high 




among the clouds on a precipitous rock in 
the heart of the C^vennes, and overlooks the 
valley of the Tarn and the thousand or more 
acres which Term her estate. The old castle, 
built in the eleventh century, is an irregular 
pile of broad towers, flanked by a farm and 
many outbuildings. 

In the distance tower three mountains 
forming part of her domain, which she lias 
named Carmen, Cavalkria, and Na\arraise, 
the three operas which have enabled her to 
buy her mountain home. 

11 When I am weary or out of health," 
said Calvg, il l 
hurry back to 
my home in the 
loveliest part of 
France* The 
crisp, invigorat- 
ing breezes 
which blow 
across the C6- 
vennes make me 
feel a different 
being after a 
short time. I 
spend my days 
roaming about, 
visiting the 
peasants who 
have known me 
all my life and 
t*ilk to me sans 
gin*. Oh, how 
happy I am in 
that wild, pictur- 
esque country, 
away from all 
the excitement 
and strain of my 

The castle is 
furnished with 
simple elegance, 
the most striking 
feature in it 
being the fine 
m u si c- ro om, 
which takes up 
house and has 
acoustics go. It 

From a Photo, by] 

CAUVt AS |4 5APHa 

stories in the old 
equals so far as 


might be called the Hall 
of Triumph, for all the souvenirs and 
tributes presented in homage to Cake's art 
are treasured up there. 

On the estate Cak£ has built an orphanage 
ill which forty little girls of the poorest class, 
who are sorely in need of care and good 
food, are received for a month "or six weeks 

at a time and looked after with loving care 
by the kind sisters in charge, and by Calve 
herself when she is at home* The girls are 
taught to sew and knit, or to help in the 
garden and dairy t so as to fit them for a 
useful life. 

"They are so happy there, ~oor little 
things/' said Calv£, "that they shed bitter 
tears when it is time for them to go home 
and make room for others," 

When I asked Calve whether she had sung 
in Germany she replied, " No, not yet." 
44 Do you, then, dislike Germany?" 

"No," she 
cried, eagerly, 
tk no ! On the 
contrary, I 
greatly admire 
the intellect of 
the Germans. I 
love their litera- 
ture and music, 
W hen I w a s 
studying the role 
of Marguerite I 
reread Goethe's 
master pi ece, 
endeavouring to 
pierce his mean- 
ing, and it is 
Goethe's Gret- 
chen I aim at 
not the tradi- 
tional Marguerite 
of the French 
opera. I went 
to Germany to 
see the burgher 
maidens in their 
home-life, and I 
studied the Gret- 
chens of the 
Middle Ages 
from books and 
pictures. I have 
tried to carry out 
the idea in my 
dress ; as white 
was only worn by queens and noble maidens 
in mediaeval times, I dress in colours, 
brown, grey, green, anything but white, 

" I love Wagner's n hi sic, because it is so 
full of thought and mysticism. Rut to com- 
prehend him thoroughly one must know 
tier man first of all, and live for some time 
in the atmosphere of his works, which is so 
intensely German, 1 am very lazy at 
language Svtt|tHtftftorftr yet summoned up 


Ifttutlingfr, /'arid 



courage to learn German. I should have to 

retire from the stage for two years at least to 

learn the language and study one or two roles, 

and at present I am not prepared to make the 

sacrifice. It is the grand figures of Brunn- 

hilde and Kundry which appeal to me most 

because they are so mystic and dramatic. 

Those are the parts 1 should like to study, 

but I have not 

the physique for 

it. Look at the 

women who are 

great in those 

roles, like Brema : 

the muscles of 

the throat are 

strongly develop- 
ed and powerful, 

I am neither 

muscular nor 

physically strong. 

Once I had a 

great longing to 

sing Isolde, and 

I studied the first 

act in French j 

but after a month 

I had to give it 

up : I was worn 

out and my 

throat ached. 

However, some 

day j perhaps, I 

ihall begin again, 

and I may play 

some of Wagner's 

heroines at the 

Opfra Co mi que, 

perhaps Isolde ; 

who k nows ? " 

The last dis- 
cussion I had 
with Calve, one 
which was never 
finished, was on 

the respective merits of opera and drama. 
Calv£ had been telling me the delight 
which literature afforded her — the literature 
of all countries, but translated into French 
—Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, Schiller, and 
all the mystics, spiritualism, theosophy, 
occultism, which she seriously studies and 
whose teaching she believes ; in fret, she 
attributes her marvellous success to the aid 
of unseen forces. 

She reads many serious books and follows 
all the scientific discoveries of our day with 
the deepest interest. 


Frpm u f Apfoi. by 

by Google 

" There is much more scope for art and 
intellect on the dramatic stage than on the 
operatic," Calve urged* "The actress is more 
of a creator and puts more of her own obser- 
vation, invention, thoughts, and feelings into 
her work." 

"That is so in the lyrical drama/' I con- 
tended, "but hardly in Wagner's dramas." 

" Even there," 
Calve rejoined, 
" there is less 
left to the crea- 
tive genius of 
the actress, for 
the lines of inter- 
pretation are laid 
down in a great 
measure by the 
use of the leading 
motives, by the 
musical declama- 
tion, and by the 
comments and 
reflections of the 
orchestra ; where- 
as in the spoken 
drama there is 
nothing to guide 
the actress hut 
the bare words," 
" But, on the 
other hand," I 
objected, "in the 
musical drama 
the singer is 
heavily handi- 
capped in one 

"How so?" 
asked Calvd 

" Both actress 
and singer are 
great artists only 
when they lift the 
listener by their 
art out of his world into the imaginary world 
they have created on the stage* Music t 
although a powerful emotional adjunct, 
actually prevents the drama itself from 
appealing directly to the onlooker as a 
reality, as life, by interposing its own sen- 
suous beauty or a tissue of subjective reflec- 
tions. Only a supreme artist can bring 
home to the audience the full force of the 
drama — I might say in spite of the musk." 

Just then w T e were interrupted and the dis- 
cussion was put off till another day. I have 
not seen Calve again since* 
Original from 


Rt.iiUiu$tr, Pari*. 





VIE WE!) the house for the 
first time in the happiest and 
n kj st h o pefll 1 ci re u m 3 ta n c e s. 
The sun shone and the birds 
twittered, and the clinker- 
strewn road with the broken 
fence on the other side seemed rather 
picturesque than otherwise. My wife was 
greatly pleased with everything. Far be it 
from me to call my wife fickle, but it is 
a fact that she has since changed her mind. 

But on this occasion, when first my villa 
burst upon our ga*e (if only it had never 
burst again in more surprising ways !), every- 
thing was seen at its best advantage* True, 
the " five minutes from the station " of the 
advertisement seemed a very modest estimate 
after we had floundered a mile through the 
mud of roads that were not yet there ; but we 
told each other that our natural eagerness 
had made the way seem longer than it was. 
In this we did an injustice to the advertiser's 
imagination : a faculty which had leaped far 
beyond the present possibilities of a raging 
motor-car on a smooth road ; an imagination 
that pierced the veil of years and contem- 
plated the distant future when villa-tenants 
shall reach th^ir railway-stations in flying- 

Digitized by GoOgic 

machines every morning. Five minutes may 
not be out of the question then. 

The style of my villa's architecture was a 
style I have observed in many new suburbs. 
It has no very definite name, and 1 believe 
each speculative builder gives it a name in 
accordance with his own taste and fancy. 
As often as not he does not hesitate to call it 
the style of the late Queen Anne. The 
speculative builder is a prudent man, not 
desirous of getting into trouble, and he has 
probably ascertained that Queen Anne is 

It is a gallant and tem[>estuous style of art, 
in which every detail does its best most 
valorously to outstare all the others* It is 
clever, too. You may fancy that the door- 
step is stone ; but, no — it is an ingenious sort 
of composition which crumbles steadily and 
quietly, and no doubt ha- the advantage of 
being softer for tender feet A rash observer 
would tell you that the gable was half- 
timbered ; but in reality the 'timbers 1 ' are 
just streaks of brown paint over the plaster — 
much more easy to renew than timber, 
and handier to carry up a ladder. There 
are columns stuck about here and there, too, 
that you rni^ht suppose to be stone at least 
J Original from 




as solid as the doorstep ; but you are sold 
again — they are not even that ; they are wooden 
cylinders with iron bars up the centres, an d 
no doubt there is some great advantage in 
this device if only I had time to think it out 
As to the thin coat of plaster which makes 
the wall angles look also like stone, that has 
one very great advantage over the genuine 
material — from the speculative builder's point 
of view. It is an advantage shared by all 
the other substitutions I have named \ but if 
you ask the speculative builder what this 
advantage is he will not tell you, though you 
may observe a twinkle 
in his eye. It is a 
trade secret. Every 
speculative builder is 
sworn not to betray 
trade secrets — sworn 
over a shovelful of 
real mortar, kept for 
the purpose. It is the 
only shovelful in the 

The builder of my 
villa is the landlord, 
though at first he 
tried his utmost to 
induce me to take 
that honourable title 
on myself. He ex- 
pressed himself 
amazed to hear that 
I had no higher am- 
bition than to be a 
mere tenant A man 
of my eminence, he 
said — he had made 
up his mind about 
my eminence before 
he heard my name — 
a man of my emi- 
nence, distinction, 
wealth, and — I am 
sure he meant to have 
added — personal 
loveliness, owed it to 

his own dignity and self-respect to be land- 
lord of his own house. Indeed, to do the 
thing properly and establish his credit beyond 
question, he ought also to be landlord of the 
house next door, And> by a singular coin- 
cidence, the house next door was for sale, 
too, the pair having been built together. 

We "went over" the house in company 
with the builder; and here I must record a 
circumstance that fills me with admiration for 
that remarkahle man. It is a fact that he 
opened every door in the house (including cup- 

VoJ. xx\v. — A. 




board doors) and two of the windows, without 
breaking a single thing. Not one. Not a 
lock, a handle, a lunge, a frame, or a panel 
broke under the strain. In my foolish inex- 
perience I thought little of this at the time, 
but now I marvel how he did it. It must be 
another trade secret. 

I did not buy the house, nor the one next 
door. But I took my villa on a lease — a 
repairing lease, The builder thought it would 
be almost an insult to offer me any humbler 
tenancy than a repairing lease. And as to 
the liability — what repairs could a new house 

possibly require ? So 
I escaped the insult 
and had the repairs 

The first repair was 
required the day we 
moved, The key 
broke in the front* 
door lock, and a 
man had to climb in 
at a window and un- 
screw the lock from 
the door. He un- 
screwed the lock, but 
first he nearly cut 
himself in two; for 
the sash line chose 
the moment when he 
was climbing in at 
the window to break, 
and drop the sash 
on him. He said he 
was quite sure that 
several of his ribs 
were broken, and he 
strongly suspected 
that his spine was 
dislocated, at least ; 
and he hinted that 
the remedy instantly 
needed was beer, 

I am afraid that 
none of the removal- 
men understood the 
builder's trade secrets; they were not suffi- 
ciently gentle with my villa. They pulled 
all the handles off the doors and some of the 
fasteners off the windows through rashness 
in opening and shutting them. And they 
did not think out possibilities beforehand. 
There was a wardrobe, for instance, for 
which my villa had a constitutional antipathy, 
and the ensuing warfare between the two 
objects was what first brought home to me 
the full responsibility of a repairing lease ; 
for the villa had altogether the worst of the 

Original from 




battle, and got seriously wounded in every 

The wardrobe would go m at the front 
door well enough, but that was tactical 
deception — a sort of strategic retreat on the 
part of the villa to draw its enemy into a 
disastrous position. The real line of defence 
was the stairs. They had been constructed 
most skilfully with a single view to the ex- 
clusion of that wardrobe. Wherever the 
way looked so plain and simple that there 
was a temptation to take the position with a 
rush, there 
some corner 
or projection 
was tying in 
wait to attack 
the invader 
in flank and 
wedge it fast. 
The ward- 
robe didn't 
seem to mind 
a bit, and at 
every fresh 
assault it took 
a piece out of 
its adversary 
somewhere ; 
but it got 
"no f or - 
rarder,' 1 and 
at last it was 
taken pri- 
soner alto- 
gether, with 
three of its 
corners jam- 
med into 
three differ- 
ent holes in 
the plaster, 
and its under 
edge gripped 
by a splintery 
gash in the 

So it re- 
maned for several minutes ; and then the 
balusters gave way. The removal-man who 
was dragged from under the debris assured 
me that his skull was fractured, and that 
it would take quite a lot of beer to save his 

We abandoned the stairs and tried other 
points of attack. But my villa seemed in- 
vulnerable to this wardrobe, notwithstanding 
that the wardrobe was by far the stronger 
article of the two. It left its mark on the 





house at every onslaught, and retired un- 
harmed and, I fancied, smiling — but it retired; 
whereas the villa, sadly maultd, and accumu- 
lating a horrible repair bill with every 
skirmish, still gallantly kept the assailant at 
bay. Till at last I began madly to wonder if 
it ^vould not be cheaper, on the whole, to 
take the house down and buitd it up again 
round the wardrol*e, 

I was considering this appalling alternative 
when the foreman suggested that we might 
try the bedroom window. If only the men's 

could be built 
up first — beer 
being recom- 
mended for 
the purpose 
— he thought 
they could 
manage to 
hoist the 
wardrobe up 
the slope of 
a ladder, and 
so shove it 
through the 
window, the 
sash having 
been first re- 

I received 
the proposi- 
tion with joy, 
and pro- 
ceeded at 
once to build 
up the men's 
which seemed 
to have run 
down very 
low indeed. 
We sent up a 
man, who had 
no difficulty 
in getting out 
the sash ; indeed, it came out much sooner than 
he expected, bringing an assortment of fittings 
and fastenings with it, and subsiding on his 
head with a clamorous tinkle of broken glass; 
so that his constitution had to be taken in 
hand again and built tip afresh. But the 
foreman's suggestion succeeded in the end, 
though, indeed, the wardrobe was a tight fit, 
It was shoved and hauled up the ladder with 
much labour and constitutional disturbance 
(beer again), and, hastening upstairs to meet 

Original from 




it, I had the felicity of observing the victorious 
object coming triumphantly into the bedroom, 
bringing the whole of the window-frame with 
it, like a collar. 

The wardrobe was all right, and there was 
a quiet twinkle about its keyholes that 
betokened complacent triumph. Fortunately 
it seemed a good-humoured piece of furni- 
ture ; if it had lost its* temper in the course 
of hostilities nothing could have saved my 
villa from total destruction. 

The wardrobe had hit the house pretty 
hard, but the effect of the carpets was alarm- 
ing, too ; or, rather, not so much of the carpets 
as of the tacking of them 
down. For with the 
concussion the ceilings 
below began first to 
crack and then to sag 
gracefully like stretched 
curtains; so I had to 
stop the tacking and 
persuade the removal- 
men to put down the 
furniture very carefully 
and lightly. The ner- 
vous delicacy required 
to carry out these in- 
structions was obtained 
by the administration 
of more beer ; and by 
the exercise on my own 
part of 5, great care in 
walking about the 
rooms, and the use of 
list slippers, I was able 
to keep the ceilings at 
the original curve for 
several days. Then I 
rashly started to knock 
nails in the walls to 
hang pictures on, and 
as I knocked the ceil- 
ing dropped on my 
head in uneasy instal- 
ments. More, the jar 
shook other things 
loose, such as mantel- 
pieces and cupboard 
frames ; and there was 
no balance of advantage after all, for the 
nails all came out when they felt the weight 
of the pictures, and brought down pieces of 
the wall with them. So I tried replacing 
them with longer nails, which made a con- 
siderable difference; the difference being that 
larger instalments of the ceiling fell more 
frequently on my head as I drove the nails 
in, and much bigger pieces of the wall 


by K: 



accompanied them when they fell out again. 
I decided that the pictures would look better 
on the floor. 

The wear and tear of moving in had 
mellowed my villa considerably, and given it 
in most places a venerable air of antique 
dilapidation that compared favourably with 
that exhibited by the most genuinely ancient 
baronial hall I know. I tried to get as much 
consolation out of this reflection as I could, 
for I had a sort of presentiment that I should 
want some consolation when the bill came in. 
I found out many curious things, and 
altogether generally improved my education, 
in the first few days of 
my tenancy ; and before 
long I was a deal wiser, 
and poorer, and wetter, 
and dustier, and angrier, 
and generally deterio- 
rated than before 1 
came to my villa, and 
had several entirely new 
experiences in rheu- 
matism, as well as an 
improved form of bron- 
chitis. It was not the 
bath that caused the 
bronchitis, however. I 
do not know the scien- 
tific name of what I 
suffered from that, but 
if you have ever sat 
down in a new bath 
full of hot water, and 
shortly afterward dis- 
covered that the hot 
water has made the 
enamel stick better than 
the most expensive sort 
of glue, you will under- 
stand what I mean. I 
cannot say precisely 
whether I tore more 
enamel off the bath or 
the bath tore more 
skin off me, but -I 
think we averaged it 
out fairly even, and 
honours were easy. 
But it was a long time before I was. 

For a long while the joinery saved us the 
cost of a cheap barometer. It bulged up 
and stuck and burst itself in wet weather, 
and shrunk and gaped wide in dry. I can 
just remember a little toy villa that stood in 
my grandmother's breakfast-room, with two 
doors in it and two inhabitants, one of whom 
kept indoors in dry weather and the other in 

Original from 



wet. My villa had a somewhat similar pro- 
perty, with the important difference that 
everybody stayed in when the weather was 
inclined to dampness, because none of the 
doors would open to let us out After a 
time, however, these violent changes in the 
woodwork abated, and it settled down to a 
more or less permanent shrinkage and gaping, 
which had the advantage of enabling one to 
inspect the adjoining room without opening 
the door, and entirely freed our servants 
from that troublesome backache and cold in 
the eye that are prevalent in households 
where observation is restricted to keyholes. 

The floor-boards shrunk, too, and let up 
such steady hurricanes from some subter- 
raneous cave of winds that the carpets rose 
and fell like the property sea in a theatre, 
and the lighter articles of furniture were 
blown out of window or up the chimneys, 
while persons of less than elghteen-stone 
weight — but, there, I must be careful to 
avoid any statement that unbelievers might 
be tempted to 
misrepresent as 
exaggerated. Let 
it suffice to say 
that the articles 
lost though the 
cracks — when 
the hurricanes 
were in abeyance 
— grew steadily 
in size day by 
day, beginning 
with such things 
as studs and cuff- 
links, and going 
on to property 
of a larger gauge 
each day, till, 
what with the 
w indoffs an d 
chimneys on the 
windy days and 
the floor chasms 
on the others, 
the household 
was gradually 
impoverished of 
e v e r y t h i n g 
smaller than a 
coal - scuttle. I 
bore it for long 
without taking 
up the boards, 
until at last the 
baby, unobserved 
for a moment, 

a LLi n.v. SKTUEMEST." 

ventured too near an unusually large crack, 
and — but , steady again ; there are people so 
ignorant of the possibilities of a speculative 
builder's villa that they would not believe 
even that 

At any rate, I took up the boards then and 
recovered most of my missing property 
— to say nothing of the baby. Also I 
discovered that whatever ill-wishers might 
say of my landlord they could not justly 
liken him to the foolish man that built 
his house upon the sand ; for I saw nothing 
anywhere distantly approaching the appear- 
ance of sand, but more than one sense bore 
witness that my villa was established on a 
foundation of beef-tins and defunct cats. 
This striking fact no doubt accounted in 
some degree for the diversifications of the 
architecture of Queen Anne, which surprised 
me on mornings when I surveyed my villa 
from the road. Oblique zigzags and other 
lines of less definable shapes appeared upon 
the brickwork, and the windows began to 

change places. 
This, the land- 
lord assured me, 
was nothing but 
14 a little settle- 
ment" — a state- 
ment that re- 
lieved me a great 
deal, for I had 
suspected a large 
earthquake. " A 
little settlement," 
it appeared, was 
a sort of archi- 
tectural thrush, 
measles, teeth- 
ing, whooping- 
cough, or what- 
not, that every 
respectable house 
went through in 
Sis infancy, I 
was glad to find 
it was nothing 
worse than that ; 
but even an 
archi tect ura 1 
whooping -cough 
can be discon- 
certing when it 
lets in a fresh 
expanse of land- 
scape almost 
daily into one 
room after 

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Original from 



But landscape was not the only thing that 
passed freely through the walls, inward 
and outward. Rain, hail, fog, wind, sleet, 
snow, smoke, and gas went to and fro re- 
gardless of bricks and mortar ; the gas also 
went regardless of pipes ; and cats and dogs 
will not surprise me soon. As to ghosts — 
well, if I saw a weird human figure coming 
through the wall of my villa, I should know 
at once that the settlement was getting worse, 
and this was a burglar. A real ghost would 
disdain to pass through such a wall as mine ; 
the job would do him no credit at all. 

I hear that settlement making extensions 
and improvements in the dead silence of 
night. A quiet, intermittent clicking and 
grinding is the sound, as a rule, only 
noticeable when the household is deep in 
slumber. But occasionally something par- 
ticular happens — some fundamental beef-tin 
buckles or some dead cat turns in its grave 
—and there is a sharp crack, and I know 
that in the morning I shall find an extra 
window somewhere, or another and* a wider 
laceration across the fair face of Queen Anne. 
I am continually strengthening that front 
wall, too, with fresh thicknesses of wall- 

I think it must be on such occasions as 
these that my chimneys grow crookeder. 
They were not very straight in the beginning; 
hut now their sinuosities would break an eel's 
back. Sweeps* brooms get lost in them and 
have to be paid for and left there. And then 
they catch fire and attract fire-engines — 
which also have to be paid for. When I 
look back upon my tenancy— not a long 

one either it often seems to me that 

it would have been really cheaper on the 
whole to have adopted the builder's sugges- 
tion, bought my villa— and instantly pulled 

it down. 

There is a sort of democratic quality 

about the house — an equal distribution of 

advantages among the deserving rooms, so to 

spea]^ Thus, when onions are being cooked, 

the drawing-room gets as much of the smell 

as the kitchen ; and when the dining-room 

fire is lit the smoke comes out of the wrong 

ends of all the other chimneys. When the 

water-pipes burst, too— and they often do 

things of that sort— there is a very general 

and impartial distribution of the water; and 

as to gas, while the leaks and explosions take 

their uirns very systematically in the different 

rooms, the smell is always so generally 

diffused that it has become indissolubly 

associated with the tenderest ties of home 

life - and never again can I experience the 



full flavour of domestic felicity without a 
good gas escape close under my nose. 

Now, I wonder why it is that the mere 
mention of my nose should instantly remind 
me of the drains at my villa? Extraordinary, 
isn't it ? Well, the drains were most con- 
veniently laid, nice and close to the surface, 
and rising gradually as they led away from 
the house. There was never any difficulty 
about finding them. The gardener often 
finds them still with a spade or a rake — once 
he found one with a broom. No difficulty 
about knowing where to put them back, 
either, if you happened to fetch any up in 
digging— anywhere would do. It wasn't as 
though they'd been cemented at the joints, 
or led anywhere in particular. They had 
been put in in compliance with the pre- 
valent superstition in favour of having drains 
of some sort, and such was the perfection of 
the system that if you pulled up a drain-pipe 
here and there and used it for a chimney- 
pot or anything of that sort it made no differ- 
ence whatever. 

I have left off having dinner-parties, not 
being a lawyer, and having some doubts as 
to the precise legal liability attaching to a 
tenant with a repairing lease whose guest 
gets killed in carrying out a dinner engage- 
ment. I had a little dinner once, by way of 
house-warming, soon after we came in, but I 
am not persevering. I was not so much 
disturbed by the tile that shot off the roof 
and laid a friend low in the front garden — 
not so much as he was, at any rate — because 
that is a thing that might happen to anybody, 
and people ought to look out for things like 
that, and, after all, he had not actually arrived. 
And although it was a little inconvenient to 
have the drawing-room hearth suddenly sink 
at the front and pitch the fireplace, with the 
fire in it, face downward on the hearth-rug, 
still that is the sort of thing that does happen 
when a young house catches a settlement ; 
and. we were going into the dining-room 
presently, in any case. But I had made a 
rather serious mistake in the dining-room. 
For fear of accidents I had knocked 
down the looser parts of the sagging ceil- 
ing with a broom, ignorant that I was 
weakening the main support of the floor 
above; for in my house the floors and ceilings 
were devised and constructed on a new and 
ingenious principle : the floor held up the 
ceiling from above, while the ceiling sup- 
ported the floor from below. So that when 
the well-meaning but incautious nurse walked 
across the bedroom floor to inspect the 
sleeping baby, first a large piece of ceiling fell 

Original from 



into the soup, and then the nurse followed it, 
in a tempestuous tangle of legs and arms 
and boards and plaster And somehow I 
sort of got discouraged at last, 

We went to bed somewhat discontented 
that night, and we took our umbrellas with 
us ; for the tile that had cancelled the invi- 

tation of one of our guests was not the only 
one gone from the roof* 

I am now having the house painted all over 
just to hold it together temporarily till I have 
had an interview with the builder. I am, in 
fact, anticipating another settlement— a final 
one, I have bought a large pole-axe. 

by Google 

Original from 

TER of 


#,- " Km 

FTER enjoying the best of 
health for fifty years, Mrs, 
Vigogne had found it neces- 
sary to summon medical 
assistance, and this just as she 
was in the midst of her various 
preparations for Christmas and the New 

"Nothing serious— no cause for anxiety. 
All that Is required are complete rest, avoid- 
ance of physical and mental strain, and a 
course of tonic treatment," had been the 
verdict of the astute doctor, not unaccus- 
tomed to deal with wealthy patients and like 
ailments, "Over-exerted yourself when a 
little below par, most probably, Mrs. Vigogne," 

She had gracefully acknowledged to having 
perhaps overtaxed her strength in the way of 
shopping and what not during the late severe 

Xi There are so many demands upon one 
at this season, and one is glad 10 make it the 
occasion of reminding one's friends that they 
are kept in remembrance." 

"Oh, yes, of course, very right and 
proper," had replied Dr, Warner, glancing 
from the faded face, with its stereotyped 
smile and expressionless eyes, towards a side 
table upon which was ranged a row of parcels 
large and small. Was she, after all, more 
liberal than she had the credit for being — 
one cf those who do good by stealth ? 

by t^ 



A childless widow with a large 
income ought certainly to do 
more for those in need than she 
was supposed to do, and ugly 
rumours had reached his ears of poor rela- 
tions neglected and great people cultivated. 

Mrs t Vigogne considered herself in society, 
and to this her late husband's name and 
wealth gave her some claim. Nor was there 
anything on her own side to be ashamed of, 
could she have looked over the non-success 
in life of some of her relatives* 

Unaccustomed to illness of any kind, she 
had been not a little alarmed by the sudden 
development of symptoms that reminded her 
she was mortal She was unaware that it 
was but an ordinary attack of dyspepsia and 
that the remedy was summarily confided to 
t h e doc tor's notebook in one expressive 

More than ready to carry out his instruc- 
tions in the matter of taking precautions, 
she installed herself in a boudoir adjoining 
her bedroom, giving orders for the house to 
be kept very quiet and no callers to be 
admitted. Moreover, in her anxiety to 
avoid again overtaxing her strength, she had 
engaged a young girl to act as secretary in 
the matter of attending to her somewhat 
extensive correspondence, and otherwise as a 
useful help— permanently should her services 
prove satisfactory. 

This young lady was later than usual, and 
Mrs* Vigogne was becoming impatient at the 
delay, her eyes turning frequently from the 
clock on the mantelshelf to the door. 
Original from 



Miss Blake must be given to understand 
that punctuality was very essential if she wished 
to keep her situations she was telling herself. 
Yes, she must certainly receive a hint about 
that, as well as two or three other matters in 
which she was remiss, Mrs. Vigogne was 
not sure that she was all that her testimonial 
had ascribed to her, She had noticed a 
doubtful, questioning look in the young girl's 
eyes when a letter was being dictated to her, 
and she had occasionally repeated the words 
in an interrogative tone, which was objection- 
able in a subordinate. Moreover, she did 
not appear amenable to reproof at such times, 
a quick flush coming into her cheeks and a 
set expression to her lips, which looked very 
like temper, although she could not be said 
to be overtly rebellious. 

" Nearly half an hour late, 
Mtss Blake," she said, when 
presently the door opened and 
the young girl entered the 
somewhat overheated and 
perfumed room, its French 
windows opening to a balcony 
filled with plants. The house 
was situated in a short, some- 
what dull, but eminently select 
strtetj leading to a square of 
such aristocratic supremacy as 
to confer a distinction upon 
its immediate neighbourhood. 

"I am sorry, Mrs. Vigogne; 
I left home in good time, but 
it was raining so heavily, and 
the omnibuses were all so full, 
that I had to wait,*' a little 
nervously replied the young 
girl Although too pale and 
anxious- looking for her years, 
she gave promise of being a 
beautiful woman in the future, 
and her earnest, reflective eyes 
and well-cut mouth and chin 
indicated that she was not with- 
out character and individuality. 

" I hope your clothes are 
not damp/' said Mrs* Vigogne, 
drawing her soft warm wrap about her and 
wheeling her chair nearer to the fire P 

A hot flush rose to the young giiTs cheeks, 
in her guilty consciousness that she did not 
possess a waterproof, as she replied :-- 

** I had an umbrella." 

" Had you not better sit nearer the 
window ? " 

Miss Blake drew her chair to the end of 
the table near the window and quietly waited 
for further instructions. 

,( Be good enough to commence by 
separating the business letters— tradesmen s 
accounts and so forth, to be examined later 
— and pass me the rest one at a time, Miss 
Blake," said Mrs. Vigogne, with an expectant 
smile. The contents of some of them, at 
least, would be pleasant reading, she was 

The young girl sorted the letters, put those 
which were evidently on business aside, and 
passed the first of the others that came to 
hand to Mrs, Vigogne. 

She took the letter from its envelope and 
glanced at it, murmuring to herself, u Only 
from Harriet, I think. Yes, I see." 

But as she proceeded to gather the con- 
tents a look of surprise came into her face. 


<c My Dear Marian, — How can I suffi- 
ciently thank you for the very beautiful and 
valuable present you have sent me? It is so 
much more than I could possibly have hoped 
for. To speak of it as a trifle, too ! It will 
be of the greatest assistance to me and my 
child : and it is all the more valued because 
it is given spontaneously, without any appeal 
to your kindness. Knowing, as you do, what 
my circumstances are, you will, I feel sure. 
not object to my disposing of your beautiful 

by Google 

Original from 



gift Indeed, I have no doubt that this was 
in your mind when sending it to me. Hoping 
that the thought of the many comforts your 
kindness will purchase for me and my child 
in the hour of need will bring happiness 
to you in the New Year, and with my heart- 
felt gratitude, believe me, dear Marian, your 
affectionate cousin, — Harriet." 

"Beautiful and valuable present — valuable? 
What in the world did it mean ? Gratitude 
for favours to come?" Mrs. Vigogne was 
asking herself, her thoughts reverting to the 
contents of the parcel she had sent to her 
widowed cousin. "Sell the trumpery chiffon 
fichu, which had only cost two and eleven- 
pence three-farthings at one of the summer 
sales? Is she laughing at me? Oh, no, 
gratitude for favours to come, of course," 
putting the letter on to the little table by her 
side, with a half-derisive smile. 

" The next, Miss Blake. Stay " — with a 
sudden foreboding. "Is there a letter bear- 
ing the Hants postmark ? " 

The young girl turned over the letters. 
"Yes, here is one." 
" Give it to me." 

Mrs. Vigogne hurriedly tore open the 
envelope and looked through the letter, her 
face paling as she read : — 

" Dear Mrs. Vigogne, — Some mistake 
must have arisen, I think — at least, I hope it 
is only that — with regard to the packet I 
received from you. I do not like to believe 
that you could have so far forgotten what is 
due to me as to present me with a half- 
soiled chiffon fichu — one of those we 
together purchased at the July sale. Nor is 
the jest, as I suppose it was intended to be, 
about my admiration for such things in 
better taste. I must hope you will be able 
to explain what at present appears an un- 
called-for affront, by return of post. I should 
be sorry, indeed, if our friendship is to be 
ended in this way, as it most certainly 
must unless I receive a satisfactory explana- 
tion and apology. — Yours, etc., Aurelia 

" Laxly Dumond ! Good gracious, send a 
half-soiled fichu to her!" mentally ejaculated 
Mrs. Vigogne, with the remembrance of their 
confidences about " picking up " such little 
bargains to come in useful by-and-by for 
presentation — to poor friends and dependents 
understood. The fichu must have been put 
into Lady Dumond's parcel by mistake ; and 
the brooch and pendant it had cost her so 
much to part with ! Mrs. Vigogne sank 
back in her chair, catching in her breath 
with a gasp of dismay as the truth suddenly 

broke upon her. Yes, it had been sent to 
her cousin Harriet, in such straits since the 
sudden death of her husband, and the fichu 
intended for her had gone to Lady Dumond, 
one of the proudest women in the three 
kingdoms ! 

The brooch and pendant had been one 
amongst a valuable collection of jewels which 
was bequeathed to her by her late husband 
with the rest of his property. There had 
been some question about these jewels, it 
being considered they were heirlooms that 
ought to go to his brother's son. The latter 
had, however, been advised that he might 
find it difficult to enforce his claim, since 
there was no authentic inventory ; and the 
late Mr. Vigogne had been a connoisseur and 
collector, frequently adding to and exchang- 
ing the jewels. By making a stir in the 
matter his nephew might deprive himself of 
the rest of the property that the widow could 
dispose of as she pleased, and she had given 
him reason for hoping this would eventually 
be his. 

The brooch and pendant were of excep- 
tionally fine brilliants and sapphires, and had 
been intended as a graceful recognition of 
many a past hospitality and investment for 
many a future visit to the Dumonds. The 
value of the gift had been carefully calculated, 
and it had been sent with many a sigh of 
regret that nothing less would suffice. 

The jewel would fetch at least eight or 
nine hundred pounds, and it might be 
already sold for less than half its value if her 
cousin had taken it to some jeweller who did 
not know its worth, or was inclined to trade 
upon her ignorance. Yes, it was too late ! 
There was nothing to be done now beyond 
explaining the mistake to Lady Dumond 
and sending another jewel of equal value, 
which she could not bear to think of. 

She silently held out her hand for another 
letter. " What next ? " she was thinking. 
Surely there could be nothing much worse 
than what she had already received. In this 
she was a little premature. 

11 Dear Mrs. Vigogne" ("Aunt Marian" 
scored through), — " I am reluctant indeed to 
break off all further communication with 
you, but this you yourself oblige me to do 
by the extraordinary pains you have taken to 
bring it about. It was quite open to you to 
send me nothing, as my previous experience 
had taught me to expect, but the New Year's 
present of a sixpenny tie was quite an un- 
necessary piece of munificence. You might, 
at least, have spared yourself the expense of 
registering the precious gift. If this were all 




I could have passed it over, but the un- 
warrantable insult — there is no other word 
for it — offered to the lady I am about to 
make my wife, whom you have not seen and 
who has given not the slightest cause for 
offence, I cannot and will not look over. 
I return your letter to her, which you had 
the impertinence to enclose with mine, with 
the contempt it deserves, and must decline 
any further correspondence with one capable 
of writing it.— James Arbuthnot." 

An insult ! A cheque for fifty guineas, 
enclosed in a prettily worded letter of 
congratulation upon the approaching event ; 
hoping that her nephew's fiancee would pur- 
chase some little souvenir of the occasion in 
his aunt's name, and expressing the desire to 
very soon know more of one she had heard 
so highly spoken of. Moreover, in this she 
had been quite sincere. The marriage would 
be one of which she entirely approved. Her 
husband's nephew was clever, amb ; tious, 
already representing his county in the House, 
and giving promise of making some mark in 
the political world. The lady he was about 
to marry was the only child and heiress of a 
county magnate, and, if a few years older 
than her fiance, was, in other respects, all 
that could be desired. 

With trembling fingers Mrs. Vigogne un- 
folded the letter, torn contemptuously across, 
that her nephew had enclosed in his own. 
Yes, as she had feared, another mistake, and 
a still more serious one ! 

This was a letter she had written to a 
young girl engaged to a nephew of her own, 
and written in a different spirit from that in- 
tended for the bride-elect of James Arbuthnot. 
Edward Norman was a clerk in a solicitor's 
office, beginning upon a pittance and with 
very little prospect of rising to any eminence. 
Marriage for him meant ruin, decided Mrs. 
Vigogne. In very plain language she had 
written to the young lady, giving her opinion 
of the ill-advised, not lo say disastrous, step 
they were about to take. She had even gone 
so far as to more than hint that she considered 
her nephew Edward was being drawn into a 
marriage by one more clever than scrupulous, 
ending with the warning that when the in- 
evitable consequences came they must not 
look to her for help of any kind. 

Worse than all, there was an allusion to 
the young girl's age being in itself an obstacle, 
and this would hardly be understood, as she 
had meant it, by James Arbuthnot's fiancee 
as referring to her other nephew's engage- 
ment. No, she felt there could be no ex- 
plaining away an affront such as this. 

And what had become of the shares she 
had sent to her nephew? That cheque for 
fifty guineas had represented but a fourth 
part of the value of the present she had sent 
to James Arbuthnot — the shares which, the 
last time they had met, he had told her might, 
if carefully manipulated, still be worth from two 
to three hundred in the market. Indeed, he 
had offered to give her a couple of hundred 
or so and take them off her hands ; and, as he 
was a careful man who might be expected to 
have private information on the matter, she 
considered she was, in fact, presenting him 
with that sum. Instead of these shares he 
had received a sixpenny necktie ! 

Mrs. Vigogne turned towards Miss Blake 
and, not a little angrily, said : — 

" There has been a series of mistakes 
respecting those letters and parcels sent off 
a few days ago, Miss Blake : mistakes that 
will place me in a position of great difficulty 
with some of my friends, and for which you 
are entirely to blame." 

11 How could that be, Mrs. Vigogne ? I 
carefully carried out all your instructions." 

il The letters must have been put into the 
wrong parcels. I particularly explained that 
they were to be numbered consecutively in 
the order I had placed them, beginning at 
the right hand, and that as you finished each 
letter I dictated it was to be enclosed in 

" I did that, and marked those that were 
to be registered." 

"Then how do you account for the 
mistakes that have arisen ? " 

" I cannot. Unless " — after a moment's 
hesitation — "you had removed the first 

parcel before I began, and, I think Yes, 

I remember now. * There was a packet on the 
table by your side, and I afterwards saw you 
put it last in the row. If it was removed 
from the end on the right it must have 
thrown them all out in the numbering." 

Mrs. Vigogne did remember. She had, 
in fact, been so reluctant to part with that 
brooch and pendant that she had put the 
parcel containing the case on the table by 
her side to take another look at it, and had 
forgotten to replace it until too late. She 
was obliged to acknowledge that she herself 
had made the mistake, although she did so 
a little grudgingly. 

11 Had you reminded me of that at the 
time it would have spared me a great deal of 
trouble and annoyance, Miss Blake. It was 
being an invalid which rendered it necessary 
for me to engage an assistant, and one 
naturally expects that a certain amount of 


by L^OOgle 

u I I I ■_' I I I 





interest will be shown in work that is under 

"1 am very sorry." 

" I have most reason to be sorry, I think," 

Not only was the thought of the brooch 
and pendant rankling in her mind, but she 
was disturbed by some new feeling which she 
could not account for. Was it the con- 
sciousness that the letter returned to her 
ought not to have been written, and that 
Miss Blake had shown her at the time it 
ought not? If so, if she felt that in her 
disapproval of what she considered io be a 
mhalliamt she had shown the lack of certain 
qualities she was desirous of having the 
credit for possessing, she was not the less 
annoyed at the young girl for perceiving it 
Twice had Miss Blake repeated those words, 
" more clever than scrupulous/ 1 as though to 
ask if she really meant them. 

11 1 fear you are not sufficiently experienced 
for the work you have undertaken, Miss 

" I told you I had no previous experience, 
Mrs. Vigogne, but 1 am very desirous of 
doing my best/ 1 replied the young girl, 
whitening to the lips with the fear she was 
about to be dismissed. 

There was a Lip at the door and a servant 
looked in. 

M Mr. Craig hopes you will be able to see 

by L^OOgle 

him, ma'am. I 
told him thai 
you did not see 
visitors, but he 
says it is very 
important he 
should see you, 
and he will only 
remain a few 

The curate ! 
Was he, too, 
mixed up m the 
complications — 
had that five 
shillings worth of 
stamps gone to 
the wrong per- 
son ? 

"Oh, I cannot. 

Wait a moment, 

Susan ; say I am 

not able to re 

ceive visitors 

just now, but I 

will make a n 

exception in Mr. 

Craig's favour." 

H Better know the worst," she was thinking. 

A young man of about seven or eight and 

twenty ; his genial face wearing just now a 

somewhat perplexed expression, entered the 


11 I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Vigogne, 
but the vicar asked me lo call. He does not 
quite know what to do with regard to the 
cheque you have sent him," 

It was not for Mr. Craig to explain the 
reason why the vicar had begged him to 
undertake the task. In fact, Mr* Sel borne a 
little shrank from going to her himself, 
although he did not hesitate to speak his 
mind when they did meet, He had indeed 
expressed himself rather strongly with regard 
to the little she did in the parish, where there 
were very many poor as well ns rich, and 
she had quite as strongly resented what lie 

" In your letter you speak of enclosing 
your usual subscription, which has invariably 
been five shillings, and the vicar found a 
cheque for fifty guineas. I need hardly tell 
you how great would he the help of that sum 
to us just now. It warms one's heart to 
think of the blankets and coals and many a 
good dinner it would purchase, " his face 
brightening with a smile* " Hut the cheque 
is made out for Miss Letitia Somers and not 
endorsed by her." 

Original from 





"It was intended for Miss Letitia Somers, 
Mr Craig." 

" In that case there is nothing left me but 
to return it, I suppose. The vicar feared 
there might be some mistake," a little ruefully 
taking out his pocket-book, 

Mrs. Vigogne was gazing reflectively down 
at her jewelled fingers. What if she were to 
give him the fifty guineas after all ? The 
sum was large, but little enough in com- 
parison with the rapidly accumulating capital 
saved from her largt: income, and her inten- 
tion of enriching her already rich nephew 
had been not a little weakened by his 
impertinent letter. Moreover, although she 
was hardly conscious of this, there was the 
feeling that the vicar's approbation would be 
welcome to her at this crisis. There was a 
not unpleasant little stir in her mind from 
another cause 
which she did not 

at that moment .*jj^ 

attempt to analyze. 

"Here i< 
cheque, N 

Again she 
tated. Tl 
though afrai 
altering her 
if she del 
and half- 
half -proud 
of hergene- 
rosity, she 
said, glane- 
i n g t she 
knew not 
w h y, t o - 
wards the 
young girl 
over the 
accounts : 
"I will not 
you, Mr. 
Craig. You 
shall have 

cheque for the same amount. And "—with 
what was intended for a little side-blow at 
the vicar : a reminder of many a little speech 
of his that had annoyed her—" you must 
tell Mr. Sel borne that you have succeeded 
where he might have failed/' 

w Oh, he won't in the least mind who 

Digitized by G* 


succeeded, so that his poor get the benefit/' 
cheerfully replied Mr. Craig. 

" Be good enough to make out a cheque 
and give it me to sign, Miss Blake." 

Mr Craig's thanks as he took leave 
sounded very agreeably to Mrs* Vigognes 
ears. It was a kind of pleasure to which 
she was unaccustomed. "He appears quite 
as elated as though I had given the fifty 
guineas to kim f n thought Mrs, Vigogne, 

She sat silent awhile, glancing now and 
again towards the young girl, still engaged in 
making a list of the accounts, then presently 
said, perhaps with the desire to show what 
another besides Mr* Craig thought of her 
generosity : — 

" Read this letter from my cousin, Miss 
Blake. I will ask you presently to reply to 
it for me." 

She was not a 
*_._ ___ - httle surprised as 

she read the evi- 
dently sincere 
expressions of 
gratitude. Had 
she judged Mrs, 
Vigogne un- 

" There was no 
mistake made 
about this letter, 
was there, Mrs. 
Vigogne ? " 

The latter was a 
little nonplussed ; 
if she acknow- 
ledged there had 
been, the gratitude 
would also be a 

"Well— no, on 
the whole — - per- 
haps not." 

" It must be so 
delightful to have 
the power to help 
people/ 1 

11 If what one 
does is appre- 

"Appreciated ? 
Oh, that matters 
so little in comparison, does it not ? " 

"You do not care for appreciation, Miss 
Blnke? J) 

" I am afraid I do more than I ought, since 
one has so often to do without it ; but," with 
a little half-smile to herself, " 1 shall learn in 

time not to want the unattainable, I suppose/* 
On gin a r from 




" Which means that you have had some 
disappointment ? " 

44 Not exactly that, Mrs. Vigogne. Am I 
to write the letter now ? " 

44 It would be as well, perhaps. Just a few 
lines to Mrs. Langly, at that address, stating 
that I am much gratified by her letter, and 
am hoping to see her here as soon as I am 

The young girl's pen travelled quickly over 
the paper, then, as she turned to take up an 
envelope, her eyes fell upon a letter she had 
not previously seen. 

44 This has not been opened, and it is not 
a business letter, Mrs, Vigogne," she said, 
noticing the crest on the envelope. 

The latter took it a little doubtfully. u Not 
another mistake. Not that five shillings- 
worth of stamps returned with contempt, I 
hope," said Mrs. Vigogne, inclined to regard 
the straying of those stamps as almost a jest 
in comparison with other things that had lost 
their way. 

44 Dear Madam, — I have been advised 
that you may perhaps be able to assist me 
with regard to a difficulty in which I find 
myself placed, and this will, I trust, excuse 
my applying to you." 

44 Someone else wanting assistance ! " she 
ejaculated. 44 There really seems to be no 
end to the appeals one gets of that kind ! " 
She was about to throw the letter aside when 
her attention was caught by the next line, 
and she read on, a very different expression 
coming into her face. 

44 1 have been given to understand that 
Miss Norman, who a short time since resided 
near Falmouth, is a niece of yours, and, as 
she has left the place and I am unable to 
discover her present address, I am hoping 
you may be able to give me some clue to it. 
I ought to explain that I am very desirous of 
winning her for my wife, and that it is her 
knowledge of this which causes her to keep 
out of the way, she having been led to 
believe that my people strongly object to the 
marriage. We know now by whom the 
mischief was made and the end that was 
in view. I will not trouble you by going 
farther into this. It is sufficient to say 
that Miss Norman was induced to think 
that if the marriage took place I 
should be disinherited by my father of 
all but a barren title. He has, in fact, 
neither the will nor the power to do anything 
of the kind. On the contrary, he is very 
desirous of welcoming the woman I love. I 
am quite as determined to find her as she 
is to keep out of the way, venturing as I do 

Digitized by t-Ch 

to think she returns my love, and it is this 
which has led her to prefer what she believes 
to be my welfare to her own, 

44 Immediately after her father's death she 
disappeared, and has, so far, baffled all 
attempts to find her. The vicar there gave 
me your address, and I have thought that 
perhaps Miss Norman might have com- 
municated with you. More he would not 
say, being, I fancy, bound to secrecy in the 

44 Can you assist me ? I have called two 
or three times, but have been given to under- 
stand that you see no one just now. I did 
not leave a card in case Miss Norman should 
be with you, and if she saw my name she 
might take wing before I had time to give 
an explanation. Could you send me a line 
or, better still, grant me an interview, I 
should be grateful beyond words. Mean- 
time, believe me, dear Mrs. Vigogne, truly 
yours, Severan." 

44 Severan ! Severan ! Could he really 
be ?" 

Mrs. Vigogne took up the book generally 
kept near at hand, and more interesting to 
her than any other. 

44 Yes, 4 fifth earl — only son — Gloucester- 
shire — Warwickshire — Berkeley Square. 7 " 

She put the book on the low table by her 
side and sat gazing straight before her, 
dazzled and bewildered by the wonderful 
prospect opening out to her mental vision. 

Her niece — the daughter of a poor 
lieutenant in the Navy — to be sought after 
in this fashion by one upon whom a duke 
would be proud to bestow his daughter !- 
The Normans could boast of good blood, to 
be sure, but really ! Lady Severan ! Why, 
she would take precedence of a Dumond ! 
Dear Mabel ! Yes, of course she must be 
found as quickly as possible ; in her heart of 
hearts having no doubt that she would be 
found when the right time came. 

Mrs. Vigogne had been too long accus- 
tomed to study the weaker side of human 
nature to have much knowledge of the 
stronger. That any girl could possibly give 
up such a prospect for the motives her niece 
had the credit for she did not l>elieve, 
although she might think it necessary to 
keep up the fiction, since this wonderful 
lover admired it so much. 

To give some vent to her feelings, which 
she found it somewhat difficult to control in 
her pride and excitement, she turned towards 
Miss Blake, and said, endeavouring to speak 
in a matter-of-course tone : — 

44 This is a letter which I must make an 

u I I I '.' I I I 




effort to reply to myself, Miss Blake, When 
a peer of the realm addresses me, I suppose 
I ought to reply to him personally, especially 
when it is written upon a question of im- 
portance to me and my family. But I have 
no objection — I think I should like you to 
see the letter/' 

The young girl read it slowly through* 
jiore slowly than was necessary, Mrs, 
Vigogne thought, a little impatiently. 

41 Quite a romance in real life, is it not, 
Miss Blake ? » 

** It seems so*" 

u Such a match for 
her ; I am really quite 
proud of my niece ! " 

" She, too, has reason 
for being proud and — 
humble — and -"ail 
sorts of things to havt: 
won such love as that, 
has she not ? " 

w I have not Seen 
her since she was a 
little child, but it was 
said she was growing 
up quite pretty," mus- 
ingly went on Mrs. 
Vigogne, " I really 
had no idea — she must 
be more than ordinarily 
beautiful ! FT 

"She may be am 
bid n us, perhaps, and 
would not be satisfied 
even with being beau- 
tiful ! One of those 
girls who want to be 
loved for— oh, 
sunn-thing or other, 
that goes to make 
us ourselves." 

w I do not quite 
understand you, 
Miss Blake." 

" I do not under- 
stand myself some- 
times, Mrs, Vigogne. I was only thinking 
that your niece might not care to be a lady- 
ship, and, in that case, would wish he were 
not a lord" — with a little laugh that sounded 
half a sob. 

" Xo girl would be so foolish as that, I 

" But if all girls wanted to marry lords 
there would not be enough to go round, and 
they would have to be fought for, or raffled 
for, or something of that sort, you know." 

Mrs. Vigogne looked a little curious as 

Digitized by G< 

MR, NifikMAS: A^D Ml*£ IV EST WTSIT To >EF vm, 

well as surprised. She had not before seen 
the young girl in this mood. That Miss 
Blake had a mind of her own she knew ; but 
she generally gave the impression of keeping 
a tight rein over her feelings, and she seemed 
suddenly to have become emotional, tears 
and smiles in her face at the same time. 
Her whole bearing was different! She pre- 
sently remembered a little half-admission, as 
it had seemed to her. " Ah, yes, she had 
judged correctly. There had been a dis- 
appointment, and it 
was too much to ex- 
pect her to rejoice over 
another's good fortune, 

The door was opened 
again and a servant 
looked in. 

** Mr. Norman and 
Miss West wish to see 
you, ma'am." 

" Really, Susan, 

when you know ** 

"It's not a bit of 
use my saying you can't 
see them, for they are 
like the gentleman 
that's just gone, and 
won't be said 'no* to, JI 
a little crossly replied 
Susan, not choosing to 
take the blame. 

"Tell them " 

Mrs. Vigogne paused, 
suddenl v remembering 
that Edward Norman 
could certainly not 
have come to resile 
her for sending him a 
sixpenny necktie- Nor 
could Miss West have 
received the letter in* 
tended for James 
A r b u t h n o r s jiancte. 
Instead of saying what 
she had meant to say, 
she added, t£ I will see them, Susan." 

Her eyes turned curiously towards the 
door, when it was presently opened again 
to admit a tall, well-built, pleasant-looking 
yuung man and a fair, graceful girl of 
between seventeen and eighteen years of age. 
" We felt we must come to thank you 
personally for your great kindness, Aunt 
Marian. A letter would not half explain the 
gratitude we feel. To begin with, this is my 
Helen, whom your goodness will enable me 

very call my wife." 
Original From 




Mrs. Vigogne was equal to the occasion 
now, and welcomed them graciously enough. 
They took the seats she indicated and, 
noticing that they glanced towards the young 
girl bending over her work at the writing- 
table, she said : " This young lady has been 
acting as confidential secretary for me during 
my illness. " 

Both bowed smilingly to her, and the 
courtesy was gracefully acknowledged, Miss 
Blake bowing as smilingly in return. 

Understanding now that the letter — the 
writing of which had somewhat puzzled htm 
—had been written by the young secretary, 
Edward Norman saw that he might speak 

" You have given us both the happiness 
we had almost given up hoping for, Aunt 
Marian; such generosity I did not expect, and 
had not the slightest grounds for expecting." 

"You mean — that is, you are alluding to 
the shares ? " seeing now that they must have 
gone to him. " You received them ? " 

"Yes, thank you a thousand times; they 
arnved safely, but, if you will excuse my say- 
ing so, they should have been registered, as 
some protection against loss. Your letter to 
Helen, too, so large-hearted in its kindness. 
I assure you she thinks it no less valuable." 

"I do, indeed," said the young girl. " It 
was more than good of you to write to me in 
that way, Mrs. Vigogne." 

"I feel that I know you as I have not 
before known you, Aunt Marian," said the 
young man, reddening a little with the con- 
sciousness of many a contemptuous thought 
of her meanness. 

She, too, was looking a little conscious and 
confused by all this warmth of gratitude for 
what she had not intended to give, as she 
said :— 

" The shares were for " She glanced at 

the two happy faces, and had not the heart to 
add, " James Arbuthnot." 

"They were worth a thousand pounds 
when you sent them, but they would realize 
six or seven times as much as that now." 

A thousand ! James Arbuthnot had offered 
to give her a couple of hundred pounds, 
as though out of kindness— just to take them 
off her hands ! 

"They are going up by leaps and bounds, 
and already represent quite a little fortune. 
Did you not know they were likely to do this, 
Aunt Marian ? " beginning to look a little 

She returned his gaze for a moment or 
two, then quietly replied : — 

" 1 gave them to you for what they may 

Digitized by Google 

be worth, Edward, and," speaking more 
decidedly as she went on, " I shall be glad to 
know they have increased in value in your 

" They are a fortune now, and my 
governor, who knows what he is talking 
about, says they will soon be worth a very 
large one. He is in earnest, too, for he 
suggested that there will presently be a 
partnership vacant in the firm, and I might 
do worse than employ my capital that way, if 
I do not wish to be an idle man. You may 
guess what that means to me. Instead of 
grinding my life out for thirty shillings a 
week, I shall be a man of means with 
a nice place of my own to return 
to after business; and in time" — he 
broke off with a little laugh that rang 
pleasantly through the room — "well, there 
is no knowing where it will stop ; for I like 
work, and am not the fellow to let the grass 
grow under my feet. You will see me at the 
top of the tree in no time, and have the 
pleasure of knowing that it is you I have to 
thank for it all. Be quick' to get well and 
let us come again soon, then you will see. 
We must not stay any longer now. Indeed, 
we had the greatest difficulty in persuading 
your servant to let us in, but I felt sure it 
would not hurt you to listen to a few words 
of gratitude and to know how much good 
you have done for us, so I fought it out with 

"Come and dine with me on Thursday — 
just a friendly little dinner to meet my cousin 
Harriet and, it may be, one other." After a 
moment or two's reflection she added : " Can 
you tell me anything about your Uncle 
William's daughter? Do you know where 
she is now, Edward ? I have heard nothing 
from her since her father's death, but I believe 
she has left Cornwall." 

"No, I have not seen her since she was 
quite a little child. You see, uncle lived so 
far off, and he was a little stand-offish, I 
fancy, for he only occasionally sent a line 
in reply to my letters, and I could never get 
to hear much of my cousin. I suppose the 
truth was— oh, well, one can pretty well 
guess. Poor people as well as rich ones 
have their defects, and are apt to be a little 
over-sensitive and meet pride with pride. 
I'm afraid they were very poor." 

" I made my brother an allowance," said 
Mrs. Vigogne, less satisfied with the thought 
that it was but thirty pounds a year than 
she would have been a few days previously. 
\Y r hat if some of her superfluous capital, the 
investing of which gave her so much trouble, 

■_i 1 1 1 >.i i 1 1 ■■_■ 1 1 1 




might have prolonged his life or, at any rate, 
have enabled him to obtain the comforts 
that are so much needed in illness ! " Had 
I known more was required, of course it 
would have been forthcoming. As to Mabel, 
I am very desirous she should be found as 
quickly as possible, for reasons I will explain 
to you more fully on Thursday." 

" I shall find her, never fear. I made up 
my mind about that as soon as good fortune 
came to me. I shall make it my business to 
go to Cornwall and hunt her up. We mean 
to induce her to come and live with us and 
share the best we have. She won't be able 
to withstand Helen and me together, and 
she'll soon find we are in earnest." 

"I am very desirous she should be found," 
repeated Mrs. Vigogne ; " I hope you will 
be able to bring me some news of her when 
you come again. Good-bye." 

They shook hands, and were about to pass 
the young girl sitting at the writing-table, 
with a smile and a bow, when she rose and 
put out her hand with a murmured "Good- 
bye," looking agitated, and as though she had 
some difficulty in keeping back the tears in 
her eyes. 

Mrs. Vigogne looked curiously on, and as 
soon as the door closed the young girl said, 
with a somewhat nervous little laugh : — 

" One forgets the conventionalities some- 
times, and it is as well one should." 

11 You think so ? " 

" With some, yes, and — they seem so — 
everything that is kind." 

" They are that, I believe, and they certainly 
make an attractive-looking young couple. 
But you are tired, cold, Miss Blake ? Come 
nearer to the fire, child, you are so pale," 
said Mrs. Vigogne, in a tone and manner 
that would have surprised those who thojught 
they knew her best and certainly surprised 

" No, thank you, I do not feel cold," 

41 You are not thinking of what I said this 
morning, are you ? I was a little annoyed, 
and spoke too decidedly under the impres- 
sion that you were to blame for the mistakes 
that occurred. As I told you, I afterwards 
saw that I myself was to blame, and I do not 
now regret it, therefore you need give no 
more thought to the matter." 

11 It is not that. There is something I 
ought to tell you ; it would have been better 
to do so at first ; I see that now, but I was 
afraid. The truth is, I thought you so 
different from what you really are, and I did 
not want to appeal to you in any way." 

by K: 



u Appeal — you ? " 

" As things were, it might have appeared 
that. Now everything is changed for me." 

A letter was brought in and presented to 
Mrs. Vigogne. 

" Read it to me, Miss Blake ; I am getting 
tired of letter-reading," she said, feeling that 
there could be nothing to come now which 
the young girl might not see. 

As she opened it the five dozen stamps fell 

" The stamps ! " thought Mrs. Vigogne. 
11 Now, where do they come from ? " 

" Dear Mrs. Vigogne, — My husband and 
I feel that we must not accept the enclosed 
for our boys' visit to the pantomime. Indeed, 
their uncle took them to Drury Lane last 
night, after they had dined with him at the 
Cecil— -you know how nicely he does these 
little kindnesses — and therefore we must not 
let them go again this vacation. Hoping you 
have now recovered your cold, — Yours truly, 
Amy Marchmont." 

" That those stamps should go there ! As 
you know, I had written to engage a five- 
guinea box for those boys." 

" Yes, here is the voucher," said the young 
girl, looking through the papers. 

" Then the box must have remained 
empty while they were paying for another. 
Had they been inclined to give me credit for 
good intentions they might have supposed it 
was a mistake, especially since I have given 
them a box for the last three years. I shall 
not take the trouble to explain, at any rate for 
the present," telling herself it would only be 
the loss of a couple of dinners during the 

"And now for your revelation, Miss Blake. 
Am I right in the supposition that it relates 
to a love quarrel and=Ti reconciliation ? " 

14 No, not a quarrel. It is " 

The door was opened once more and 
Susan looked in, a smile — brought by a 
golden argument that had been used — 
broadening over her face. 

" Lord Severan begs to know if you can 
see him for a few minutes, ma'am." 

" Lord Severan ! Oh, yes, show him here, 
Susan," promptly. 

A young man of about seven or eight and 
twenty, who, if not handsome, had a strong 
and kindly face, presently entered the room. 

" I trust you will excuse my pertinacity, 
Mrs. Vigogne. The servant thought you 
might not be able to see me ; but, as my 
errand is of great importance to me, I in- 
duced her to ask you. You received my 
letter ? " 

Original from 




"Yes" — adding to the young girl, as 
though to draw his attention to the presence 
of a stranger, **I will not detain you longer, 
Miss Elake, Indeed, you have done quite 
enough for to-day, I think," 

Why, what in the world had come to 
her ? Instead of quitting the room the 
young girl came blushing and smiling 
fur wards. 

He looked round and sprang towards her, 
holding out both hands. 

Lt Mabel I You 1 This is good fortune 
indeed ! " 

plain, child. But why did you not take me 
into your confidence before ? " 

" I did not know you as I do now, and I 
did not want to talk about things." 
" But how was it you came here ? " 
H The rector of our place is a friend of the 
vicar here, and wrote to ask him to recom- 
mend me in case he heard of any work 
that I could undertake. Mr. Selborne 
heard that you were seeking for someone to 
write for you, and I came/ 1 To Lord 
Severan she said : " I took the name of 
Blake, my mother's maiden name, in the 
hope of concealing my 
identity. Of course, I did 
not foresee your coming 

" Don't you think I'm 


She looked at him a moment, then put 
her hands into his, 

u Gerald 1 7 ' 

Mrs* Vigogne sank bark in her chair. All 
that had gone before seemed as nothing in 
comparison with ibis ! 

"I have been reading your letter," said 
Mabel to him, in a low, tremulous voice* * 4 1 
know now that I need not have kept out of 
the way*" Then her eyes filled with tears of 
happiness; she turned to Mrs* Vigogne : li I 
was just about to tell you when Gerald came 
in. Aunt Marian." 

11 Of course; I can see what is so very 

a lucky fellow, Mrs. Vigogne? As I told 
Miss Mabel, I was bound to get my way." 

" I want my way," said the happy girl, 
with gay defiance, "and 1 think I shall get it 
as long as I live," 

" Because it will be mine* You see we 
understand each other, Aunt Marian ? " 

" Aunt has just seen as much love-making 
as she can bear for the present. Two have 
already been here." 

Mrs* Vigogne looked at the two with 
proud eyes. She would have to act up to 
the character of the benevolent aunt to the 
end of her davs now. 

Vol. **w.-e. 

by Google 

Original from 

By E. D. Cuming and J. A. Shkpherd. 

HE cuckoo has passed from the 
stage of hoarseness to that of 
silence and is heard no more. 
The Live-long day Popular Con- 
certs are practically over now, 
for many of the singers are moulting, and 
they do not feel very well Individuals who 
have not begun to change their clothes, the 
chaffinch, skylark, robin, and others, con- 
tinue, but it is the aftermath of the concert 
season, a'nd most of the birds sit about in 
the shade and gape for air in the stillness of 
noontide. The snake, either because he 
feels the heat or because it is time to do so, 
strips off his coat, now an overcoat, and 
leaves it lying under some bush, a limp and 
pallid thing like the ghost of its owner. The 
snake disrobes very thoroughly, taking off 

even the old spectacles which are attached to 
his hood. The viper, who has hatched her 
eggs in her own body, has her brood round 
her: very young vipers cannot protect them- 
selves, and there is much reliable evidence 
to support the belief that, when danger 
threatens, their mother accommodates them 
with sanctuary in her ovvn interior, welcoming 
the giddy young things with open mouth, 
and imploring them to come in one at a 
time lest they stick by the way, When she 
has got the whole dozen on board she writhes 
away into safety, and calls them up again to 
inquire how they liked it. 

The moorhen looks round on her family, 
two broods and about fifteen all told, with 
pardonable pride. Well she may, for the 
elder children had helped her build the 


n 1 nru-ifr Original from 




second nest she wanted, and 
as* soon as their younger 
brothers and sisters chipped 
out they helped feed and look 
after them. No doubt they 
also tub and put them to bed 
and give them swimming 
lessons. The moorhen's wisdom 
is not confined to her method 
of bringing up children ; when 
floods threaten she and her 
mate have been known to build 
higher the nest of sedge and 
flags on the water's edge that 
the eggs may not get wet. 
Their besetting sin is love of 
quarrelling. Moorhens are 
never on terms of common 
civility with their neighbours, 
and forget themselves so far as 
to kill and eat other people's 

The swan, who has been 
sitting for five weeks on her 
eggs, now appears in public 
with her ugly children. Swans 
are jealous parents, and show 
fight if man or dog come near 
the brood ; the young married swan has 
only three or four cygnets when, at the age 
of two or three years, she establishes her 
first nursery ; as she grows older she faces 
family responsibility more boldly and thinks 


little of rearing ten or a dozen 

The long-tailed tit's children 
are sitting in a row on some 
handy twig, gaping for more 
like so many fluffy Oliver 
Twists. If consulted, they 
would probably have preferred 
to stay longer in the nest, but 
that was wanted for the second 
family, and they had to turn 
out. The willow-wren has sent 
her second brood out to face 
the world, from the little domed 
nest on the ground. She is 
nervous and indiscreet when 
her children are big enough to 
wander about by themselves, 
and often tells you where they 
are by the way she screams to 
them to come to her for pro- 
tection. The goldfinch is sitting 
on her second clutch, and is 
trying to induce her mate to 
sing ; but he is beginning to 
tire of singing, as he is apt to 
do about this time, and will 
only open his beak when the 
spirit moves him. Also, the thistles are seed- 
ing, and if there is one thing the restless gold- 
finch enjoys more than another it is to swing 
on a thistle-top and pick the downy seeds. 
The sparrow-hawk has got her four, five, 



Original from 



or six children out of the nest at last. 
Her nursery duties are particularly tedious, 
for the eggs take nearly seven weeks to 
hatch, whereas other birds of her size 
manage the business in half the time or 
less. The hungry family perch on the 
branches and worry their parents, who 
grow perfectly reckless as to how they 
fill the larder They steal chickens 
from the poultry yard under the henwife's 
nose and defy the gamekeeper among his 
pheasant coops when lawful prey s wood- 
pigeons and the like, is scarce, So bad is 

You riun't imprison Brown ox Jones if Thon3?>on 

Meal a hat, 
And when your little dog does wrung yon do not L>ea.t 

the cat* 
I seldom kill a bird at all ; and> faith, I cannot set? 
Why, when the sparrow-hawk kills chicks, you come 

and murder mc ! 

Occasionally a kestrel contracts the evil 
habit of raiding poultry yard or pheasant 
field ; but the normal life of this St + Kestrel 
is more than blameless, if the slaughter of 
vermin be meritorious. 

Mrs. Swift, in the church tower, is educat- 
ing her children : one of the first things young 



the character of tin* sparrow-hawk that other 
birds bearing the faintest resemblance to 
him, or to a hawk at all, pay for his sins with 
their lives. The nearly harmless kestrel, 
who hangs in midair as though suspended 
from a thread tied to a cloud, is always 
getting into trouble for the sparrow-hawk's 
misdeeds : — 

A mouse for breakfast, mouse for lunch, for dinner 

yel a ihird, 
Surely what's virlue in a cat in virtue in a bird? 
When mice sire scarce we're all at pnins your fields of 

rats to rid, 
And yet you shoot ns down at sight for things we 

never did I 

Digitized by C.OOQ I C 

swifts learn is to fire themselves at a velocity 
of about 500ft. per second into a 3111* hole : 
this difficult accomplishment, one; would 
think, cannot he acquired without many 
bumps and bruises. There are stir and bustle 
down by the horse pond : the place is over- 
populated, and young frogs must emigrate 
and start life somewhere else, It is hard on 
frogs not out of pinafores and no bigger than 
a sixpence ; hut the emigration season is 
held glorious by ducks and other fowl, who 
snap up the little travellers in scores as they 
toil painfully across the rough and trackless 
desert— which to us appears to be the high 






' k Htl MET A FQSf,' 

road — in search of the damp ditch which, 
rumour saith, is on the farther side. The 
stag-beetle digs his way out of the ground at 
the root of the oak in the warm evening and 
sails ponderously off into the world : the 
cockchafer and little beetles get out of his 
way and the caterpillars lie still as death, 
hoping to escape notice, for the stag-beetle 
is hungry. That lordly creature apparently 
expects twigs as well as cockchafers to pet 
out of his way, for he is always coming to 
grief in the lanes : you may find him on his 
back in the road any morning. 

It seems to be a point of honour with the 
Stag-beetle that when he falls he shall fall on 
his hack, and an inverted sia^ beetle is as 
helpless as a M turned turtle." There he lies 
feebly clawing the air until the ants find 
him out— which they are sure to do soon— 
and when that happens his moments are 
numbered. Surrounding him in crowds, as the 
1 jliputians swarmed round and over Gulliver, 
they treat the fallen beetle less considerately 
than the little folk treated that hero; in brief, 
they set to work and take him to pieces 
without waiting for him to die. 

The hedgehog's children are abroad now, 
peering furtively about into the dusk. The 
young hedgehog is defenceless, for his spines 
are merely stiff hairs, and he am trot about 
and enjoy himself long before he can roll into 
a ball Ke learns to perform this indispens- 

able feat in timej but t as you 
can well suppose, it requires 
long practice before it can be 
accomplished at the lightning 
speed the experienced hedge- 
hog displays when pounced 
upon by a fox or when fight- 
ing a viper* A. state of reple- 
tion probably does not make 
for activity, so this is not 
altogether a fancy picture : — 

The hedgehog's boy dined with a 

Iriend one day, 
And dined too well— not wisely; 
people say. 

Young hedgehogs are a 

littk prone that way. 

Well t corning home 

across the field that 


He met a fox and tried 

tn roll up tight t 
That prickly spines 
should baffle cun- 
ning might. 
The hapless hedgehog ! for the nonce too stout, 
Tie couldn't roll up quick enough ; no douht 
The fo\ saw promptly what bed been about 
And turned him upside down and inside out. 

The squirrels have begun their children's 

• <\V 

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4 6 


"quiet meditation." 

education, which includes athletics, birds'- 
nesting, and scolding in all their respective 
branches. The squirrel is an unprincipled 
fellow : he thinks 
nothing of stealing 
the eggs of birds 
as big as the wood- 
pigeon, and occa- 
sionally adds insult 
to injury by eating 
them in the nest 
and omitting to 
clean the place up 
afterwards. He 
has been known to 
stoop to the worse 
depravity of catch- 
ing young birds 
and eating them ; 
but this conduct, 
be it said for the 
credit of the 
species, is not 
usual. Concerning 
trespassers he and 
his wife hold strong 
opinions, which 
they express with 
enviable fluency 
when their children 
are about. The 

squirrel's vocabulary of abuse is ex- 
tensive, and, when roused, a mere 
boy squirrel can put a bargeman to 
shame. The young badgers are 
allowed to go out in the evening now 
and romp, somewhat ponderously, 
with their indulgent parents. Romp- 
ing is not much in the middle-aged 
badgers line; he prefers quiet 
meditation, and meditates at great 
length when leisure permits. Neither 
he nor his wife has much time for 
it just at present : new beds have to 
be made, and the badger's bed is no 
trifle. He has a singularly ungrace- 
ful way of carrying in litter : he col- 
lects a heap of dry bracken and 
grass, or straw if atailable ; throws 
himself over it an&<^ba0k$^ home- 
wards, hugging the stufr Under him 
with his arms. It is an undignified 
proceeding for the scion of an old 
county family, but he works at night, 
careless what the fox, owls, and 
bats think of him. 

The storm petrel, a bird whose 

name is known to everybody if her 

person be familiar to few, has now 

hatched out her single egg. Sometimes the 

storm petrel, who assembles in a colony for 

breeding, makes a sketchy sort of nest in a 

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Original from 




burrow, but she is often quite satisfied with 
the bare ground and rears her only child in 
Spartan simplicity. The bird has a morbid 
passion for anything fat. A storm petrel has 
been kept alive for three weeks on a satisfying 
diet of oil ; presum- 
ably a young one 
would accept a 
tallow candle in 
the spirit of fervid 
gratitude a child 
displays towards a 
stick of sugar- 
candy. The guille- 
mot's children are 
by this time old 
enough to be 
launched — literally 
speaking — and 
their parents bring 
i hem down from 

the rock-ledges on their backs. Sometimes the 
old bird brings down the infant by the scruff of 
the neck » but probably she adopts this drastic 
treatment only if he refuse to climb on her 
back. It must be said, in justification of the 
young guillemot, that the descent from rock- 
ledge to sea on the 
maternal back is a 
trip fraught with 
peril, as the most 
careful parent can- 
not help dropping 
her child occasion- 
ally. The gannet's 
egg has yielded a 
naked, black, un- 
lovely monster with 
an insatiable appe- 
tite for fish. An 
author a filleted 
with statistical 
tastes calculated 
that the gannets on 
Sl Ki I da, estimated 
at 200,000 birds, 
ate 2 14,000,000 
herrings in seven 
months. He allowed 
each bird five hej- 
rings a day — an 
allowance which in 
practical applica- 
tion would certainly 
have secured his 
summary dismissal 
as caterer. Gannets 
are enormous 
eaters, and when a 


shoal of herrings 
offers opportunity 
gorge themselves 
till they cannot rise 
from the water. 

The young 
grouse can fly well 
now ; family affec- 
tion or self-interest 
keeps the brood 
together, as it does 
in the case of some 
other birds : a beautiful 
provision of Nature, a 
thoughtful sportsman said, 
to give you a nice "right 
and left." Pheasant chicks are 
Strong on the leg if Still mere 
apprentices in the art of flying; 
they prefer to hide rather than 
try and escape by running. The 
young pheasant labours under the delusion 
that if it squat down and stretch out tts 
neck it becomes invisible; amid favourable 
surroundings it may be overlooked, but a 
chick doing this in the open field looks 
foolish. The rabbit, by the way, cheiishes 

the same mistaken 
theory in his inno- 
cent youth, and 
does not always out- 
grow it. The young 
partridges can fly, 
too, and thus relieve 
their affectionate 
parents of the 
necessity — doubt- 
less painful to con- 
scientious birds— 
of shamming lame- 
ness to draw off 
man or other enemy 
who may venture 
near the covey. 
The partridge is a 
child in artifice com- 
pared to the wild 
duck, who is a past- 
master in the arts 
of deception. 
Father and mother 
sham broken legs 
and wings as though 
the tricks were just 
patented, instead of 
having been prac- 
tised ever since 
wild duck's enemies 
were created, 

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Original from 

4 8 




There are plenty of infant salmon abroad 
—far more than any trout fisherman wants— 
for the parr's curiosity concerning trout- flics 
is insatiable, and he takes flics not meant for 
him wilh the recklessness of a creature who 
knows he will be discharged^ under the First 
Offenders' Act, with a pricked lip by way of 
caution. Salmon ova hatch out in from 
thirty five to 148 days, according to the 
temperature of the water : cold means delay 
and warmth expedition. That is a lucky 
parr who reaches full blown sal men hood : it 
is reckoned that four or five fish reach 

The toad changes 
his clothes; he does 
not, like the snake, 
risk outraging the 
sense of propriety 
of chance passers- 
by stripping in the 
Open: he retires to 
the privacy of his 
underground dress- 
ing-room and dis- 
robes there. First 
he rubs his sides 
down with his 
elbows till his coat 
splits down the 
back ; then, wish- 
ing no doubt it 
was niade to un- 
button in front, he 
rubs it into folds on his sides, when with 
his right hand he draws the left side clear, 
and vat versa, so that it hangs like a 
bib. He draws off his pants, leg by leg, 
exactly as a man would do, nnd strips off 
his sleeves — eating each garment as he takes 
it off— and stands up newly clad from top to 
toe, perfectly happy and pleased with himself, 
as why should he not be ? 

(live me the clo's a fellow grows 

With Nature's kindly aid. 
\l> (ni]{)r win's; unc alwnys. knows 

They will be nicely made. 


/ i 

A Ml-' ^IC USShOS 

salmon's estate out of every 30,000 eggs laid. 
The salmon rejoices in ;i wealth of names 
applicable to stage of growth, condition, and 
sex \ I have counted forty-two without in- 
cluding any of those names you call him 
when he won't rise. 

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However wet your (hincjs may get, 
Their sha|*e they never lose ; 

No fellow yet I ever met 

Lacked smartness in his shoes. 

Dytiscus, passed through the various stages 
of existence, egg, larva, and pupa, has 
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emerged from the underground cell wherein 
he underwent his final transformation, a fully 
equipped water-beetle. Dytiscus is one of 
the champion oarsmen of the insect world ; 
he rows with his hind legs, which are flattened 
and furnished along the lower edge with 
stiff hairs, and a neat arrangement of joints 
enables him to "feather" his oars in the 
fashion approved by rowing men. Hydro- 
philus, the great water-beetle, is a very poor 
oarsman compared with his smaller cousin : 
he does not even attempt to keep time; feed- 
ing as he does chiefly on vegetable matter, it 
is less necessary for him to excel. Dytiscus 
catches other insects, some of which require 
chasing, so necessity has made him a pro- 
fessional, while hydrophilus remains a con- 
tented and indifferent amateur. 

The wood-pigeons are nursing their second 
pair of twins, and so are the turtle-doves, if 
tl*y have decided to rear two families this 
season, which is not always the case. Some 
young birds, the robins for instance, are trying 
to sing — to the gratification of their proud 
parents, who do not, so far as human know- 
ledge goes, give them any education in 
harmony : imagine a hedge-sparrow trying to 
teach a young cuckoo his notes ! Young 
field-mice, field-voles, and shrews of all ages 
of indiscretion from a month upwards are 
abroad in numbers. These animals are not 
on squeaking terms with one another: a pity, 
as the youthful mice and voles are fond 
of play, and in every field there are 
enough of them to get • 

opgames which might 
distract - their atten- 
tion from the farmer's 
com and grass, to 
both of which mice 
and voles do great 
harm. There is a par- 

ticularly big black mark in the agriculturist's 
calendar against the field-vole; from time 
to time he arises in the might of numbers, 
multiplying with incredible rapidity, and 
btinging ruin to whole parishes. The Rox- 
burghshire farmers will not soon forget the 
"vole plague" of 1892-3, when a succession 
of dry springs and summers induced every 
vole in the country to marry young, bring 
up one family after another, and marry 
their sons and daughters off in feverish 
haste. Over a district of 90,000 acres 
or more, grazing and crops in turn were 

The wild cat's young family, reared largely 
on stolen game, is out on the trail. The 
study of the wild cat is fraught with vexation 
to the scientific man ; that noble animal (the 
cat, I mean), for his sins, has been as nearly 
exterminated as game preservation can 
accomplish it; but the bond between the 
true wild cat and frail domestic cat is close. 
If the home-bred cat go to the woods she 
remains there, lending willing ear to the 
addresses of a cat with wild blood in his 
veins, or to those of an outlaw like herself. 
Her progeny, in a generation or two, take 
upon them the outward and inward sem- 
blance of the wild cat ; and of such a forest- 
bred cat no man may say her grandmother 
was of blameless antecedents or was born 
and bred a proscribed bandit. 

The late Duke of Westminster, a naturalist 
at heart, preserved the few true wild cats left 

on Reay Forest, 
thinking it a pity 
so interesting an 
animal should be 
extermi nated. 
What his Grace's 
keepers thought is 
not recorded 

W Vf t 

ay Google 



Original from 

£ uto 



A I LOR MEN are not good 
'ands at saving money <is a 
rule, said the night-watchman, 
as he wistfully toyed with a 
bad shilling on his watch- 
chain, though to 'ear 'em 
talk of saving when they're at sea and there 
isn't a pub within a thousand miles of ? em, 
you might think different. 

It ain't for the want of trying either with 
some uf T em, and I've known men do all 
sorts o J things as soon as they was paid off, 
with a view to saving. 1 knew one man as 
used to keep all but a shilling or two in a 
belt next to 1 is skin so that he couldn't get at 
it easy, but it was all no good. He was 
always running short in the most inconvenient 
places, I've seen 'im wriggle for five minutes 
right off, with a tramcar conductor standing 
over 'im and the other people in the tram 
reading their papers with one eye and watch- 
ing him with the other. 

Ginger Dick and Peter Russet — two men 
I've spoke of to you afore— tried to save 
their money once. They'd got so sick and 
tired of spending it all in p'raps a week or 
ten days arter coining ashore, and 'aving to 
go to sea agin sooner than they r ad intended, 
that they determined some way or other to 
'ave things different. 

They was homeward bound on a steamer 
from Melbourne when they made their 
minds up; and Isaac Lunn, the oldest fire- 
man aboard — a very steady old teetotaler 

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— gave them a lot of good advice about it. 
They all wanted to rejoin the ship when she 
sailed agin, and J e offered to take a room 
ashore with them and mind their money, 
giving 'em what ? e called a moderate amount 
each day + 

They would ha' laughed at any other man, 
but they knew that old Isaac was as honest 
as could be and that their money would be 
safe with 'im, and at last, after a lot of 
palaver, they wrote out a paper saying as 
they were willing for 'im to *ave their money 
and give it to 'em bit by bit, till they went to 
sea agin. 

Anybody but (linger Dick and refer 
Russet or a fool would ha known better than 
to do such a thing, but old Isaac 'ad got such 
a oily tongue and seemed so fair-minded 
about wot 'e called moderate drinking that 
they never thought wot they was letting them- 
selves in for, and when they took their pay-- 
close on sixteen pounds each — they put the 
odd change in their pockets and anded thu 
rest over to linn. 

The first day they was as pleased as 
Punch. Old Isaac got a nice, respectable 
bedroom for them all, and arter they'd 'ad 
a few drinks they humored 'im byjaving a 
nice ! ot cup o* tea, and then go in 1 off with 
'im to see a magic- lantern performance. 

It was called "The Drunkards Downfall/ 7 
and it begun with a young man going into a 
nice-looking pub and being served by a 
nice-looking barmaid with a glass of ale. 

Original from 




Then it got on to 'arf pints and pints in the 
next picture, and arter Ginger 'ad seen the 
lost young man put away six pints in about 
'arf a minute, 'e got such a raging thirst on 
'im that 'e couldn't sit still, and 'e whispered 
to Peter Russet to go out with 'im. 

" You'll lose the best of it if you go now," 
ses old Isaac, in a whisper ; " in the next 
picture there's little frogs and devils sitting 
on the edge of the pot as 'e goes to drink." 

Ginger Dick got up and nodded to Peter. 

" Arter that 'e kills 'is mother with a razor," 
ses old Isaac, pleading with 'im and 'olding 
on to 'is coat. 

Ginger Dick sat down agin, and when 
the murder was over 'e said it made 'im feel 
faint, and 'im and Peter Russet went out for 
a breath of fresh air. They 'ad three at the 
first place, and then they moved on to 
another and forgot all about Isaac and the 
dissolving views until ten o'clock, when 
Ginger, who 'ad been very liberal to some 
friends 'e'd made in a pub, found 'e'd spent 
'is last penny. 

"This comes o' listening to a parcel o' 
teetotalers," 'e ses, very cross, when 'e found 
that Peter 'ad spent all 'is money too. 
"Here we are just beginning the evening 
and not a farthing in our pockets." 

They went off 'ome in a very bad temper. 
Old Isaac was asleep in 'is bed, and when 
lliey woke 'im up and said that they was 
going to take charge of their money them- 
selves 'e kept dropping off to sleep agin 
and snoring that 'ard they could scarcely 
hear themselves speak. Then Peter tipped 
Ginger a wink and pointed to Isaac's 
trousers, which were 'anging over the foot of 
the bed. 

Ginger Dick smiled and took 'em up softly, 
and Peter Russet smiled too ; but 'e wasn't 
best pleased to see old Isaac a -smiling in 
'is sleep, as though 'e was 'aving amusing 
dreams. All Ginger found was a ha'penny, 
a bunch o* keys, and a cough lozenge. In 
the coat and waistcoat 'e found a few tracks 
folded up, a broken pen-knife, a ball of string, 
and some other rubbish. Then 'e set down 
on the foot o' their bed and made eyes over 
at Peter. 

44 Wake 'im up agin," ses Peter, in a temper. 

Ginger Dick got up and, leaning over the 
bed, took old Isaac by the shoulders and 
shook 'im as if ? e'd been a bottle o' medicine. 

44 Time to get up, lads ? " ses old Isaac, 
putting one leg out o' bed. 

44 No, it ain't," ses Ginger, very rough ; 
14 we ain't been to bed yet. We want our 
money back." 

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Isaac drew 'is leg back into bed agin. 
"Goo* night," he ses, and fell fast asleep. 

" He's shamming, that's wot 'e is," ses 
Peter Russet. " Let's look for it. It must 
be in the room somewhere." 

They turned the room upside down pretty 
near, and then Ginger Dick struck a match 
and looked up the chimney, but all 'e found 
was that it 'adn't been swept for about twenty 
years, and wot with temper and soot 'e 
looked so frightful that Peter was arf afraid 
of 'im. 

" I've 'ad enough of this," ses Ginger, 
running up to the bed and 'olding his sooty 
fist under old Isaac's nose. " Now, then, 
where's that money ? If you don't give us 
our money, our 'ard-earned money, inside o' 
two minutes, I'll break every bone in your 

" This is wot comes o' trying to do you a 
favour, Ginger," ses the old man, reproach- 

" Don't talk to me," ses Ginger, " cos I 
won't have it. Come on ; where is it ? " 

Old Isaac looked at 'im, and then he gave 
a sigh and got up and put on 'is boots and 
'is trousers. 

44 1 thought I should 'ave a little trouble 
with you," he ses, slowly, " but I was pre- 
pared for that." 

44 You'll 'ave more if you don't hurry up," 
ses Ginger, glaring at 'im. 

" We don't want to 'urt you, Isaac," ses 
Peter Russet, 44 we on'y want our money." 

44 I know that," ses Isaac ; "you keep still, 
Peter and see fair-play, and I'll knock you 
silly arterwards." 

He pushed some o' the things into a corner 
and then 'e spat on 'is 'ands, and began to 
prance up and down, and duck 'is 'ead abo\it 
and hit the air in a way that surprised 'em. 

" I ain't hit a man for five years," 'e ses, 
still dancing up and down — " fighting's sinful 
except in a good cause — but afore I got a 
new 'art, Ginger, I'd lick three men like you 
afore breakfast, just to git up a appetite." 

" Look 'ere," ses Ginger ; " you're an old 
man and I don't want to 'urt you ; tell us 
where our money is, our 'ard-earned money, 
and I won't lay a finger on you." 

" I'm taking care of it for you," ses the 
old man. 

Ginger Dick gave a howl and rushed at 
him, and the next moment Isaac's fist shot 
out and give 'im a drive that sent 'im 
spinning across the room until 'e fell in a 
heap in the fireplace. It was like a kick 
from a 'orse, and Peter looked very serious 
as 'e picked 'im up and dusted 'im down. 

j 1 1 1 ■_■ 1 1 1 




"'l AIN'T HIT A 3IAN hull KIVE VfiARK. Jit SE' 

" You should keep your eye on *is fist/* he 
ses, sharply. 

It was a silly thing to say, seeing that that 
was just wot 'ad 'appened, and (linger told 
'im wot Vd do for r im when Vd finished 
with Isaac, He went at the old man agin, 
but 'e never 'ad a chance, and in about three 
minutes 'e was very glad to let Peter Vp 'im 
into bed. 

" It's your turn to fight him now, Peter," 
he ses. "Just move this piller so as I can 

" Come on, lad/ 1 ses the old man. 

Peter shook 'is J ead, "I have no wish 
to 'urt you, Isaac," he ses, kindly; 4 * excite- 
ment like fighting is dangerous for an old 
man. Give us our money and we'll say no 
more about it." 

u No, my lads," ses Isaac. ■* I've und«*r- 
took to take charge o" this money and I'm 
going to do it ; and I 'ope that when we all 
sign on aboard the Planet there'll he a 
matter o' twelve pounds each left. Now, 
I don't want to be 'arsh with you, hut I'm 
going back to bed, arid if I r ave to get up 
and dress agin you'll wish yourselves dead/' 

He went back to Ixrd agin, and Peter, 
taking no notkc of (ringer Dick, who kept 
calling 'im a coward, got into bed alongside 
of Ginger and fell fast asleep. 

by Google 

They all 'ad break- 
fast in a coffee-shop 
next morning, and 
arter it was over 
Ginger, who adn't 
spoke a word till then, 
said that ? e and Peter 
Russet wanted a little 
money to go on with. 
He said they preferred 
to get their meals 
alone, as Isaac's face 
took their appetite 

" Very good/' ses 
the old man. " I 
don't want to force 
my company on no- 
body," and after think- 
ing 'ard for a minute or 
two he put 'is 'and in 
Is tro user pocket and 
gave them eighteen- 
pence each, 

MVot J sthisfor? J 'ses 
Ginger, staring at the 
money, " Matches ? " 
"That's your day's 
allowance," ses Isaac, 
'* and it's plenty. There's ninepence for your 
dinner, fourpence for your tea, and twopence 
for a crust o' bread and cheese for supper. 
And if you must go and drown yourselves in 
beer, that leaves threepence each to go and 
do it with." 

Ginger tried to speak to ttn f but 'is feelings 
was too much for 'im, and 'e couldn't. Then 
Peter Russet swallered something *e was 
going to say and asked old Isaac very peril te 
to make it a quid for 'im because he was 
going down to Colchester to see 'is mother, 
and 'e didn't want to go empty-anded. 

14 You Ye a good son, Peter," st?s old Isaac, 
"and I wish there was more like you, 111 
come down with you, if you like ; I've got 
nothing to do." 

Peter said it was very kind of 'im, but Vd 
sooner go alone, owing to his mother being 
very shy afore strangers. 

41 Well, III come down to the station and 
take a ticket for you/' ses Isaac 

Then Peter lost 'is temper altogether, and 
banged 'is fist on the table and smashed arf 
the crockery. He asked Isaac whether e 
thought 'im and Ginger Dick was a couple o 1 
children, and e said if 'e didn't give f em all 
their money right away Vd give im in 
charge to the first policeman they met. 

*' I'm afraid you didn't intend for to go 
Original from 




WU1 5 TtfLS FUlt? SftS ClKGEHL 

and see your mother, Peter/* ses the old 


** Look "ere," ses Peter, "are yoa going to 
give us that money ? " 

l * Not if you went down on your bended 
knees," ses the old man. 

"'Very good/ 1 says Peter, getting up and 
walking outside ; " then come along o' me to 
find a policeman." 

" I'tii agreeable," ses Isaac, "but I've ^ot 
the paper you signed." 

Peter said 'e didn't care twopence if 'e'd 
got fifty papers, and they walked along look- 
ing for a policeman, which was a very unusual 
thing for them to do, 

" I 'ope for your sakes it won't he the same 
policeman that you and Ginger Pick set on 
in Gun Alley the night afore you shipped on 
the Phitwt" ses Isaac, pursing up 'is lips. 

"Tain't likely to be/' ses Peter, beginning 
to wish 'e 'ad n't been so free with 'is tongue. 

u Still, if I tell 'im, I d essay he'll soon find 
p im," ses Isaac ; " there's one coming along 
now, Peter ; shall I stop im ? " 

Peter Russet looked at 'im and then he 
looked at (linger, and they walked by grind- 
ing their teeth. They stuck to Isaac all day, 
trying to get their money out of 'im, and the 
names they called 'im was a surprise even to 

Digitized by Google 

themselves. And at night they turned the 
room topsy-turvy agin looking for their money 
and J ad more unpleasantness when they 
wanted Isaac to get up and let 'em search 
the bed. 

They 'ad breakfast together agin next 
morning and Ginger tried another tack. 
He spoke quite nice to Isaac, and 'ad three 
large cups o' tea to show 'im 'ow 'e was 
beginning to like it, and when the old man 
gave 'em their eighteen -pences 5 e smiled and 
said Vd like a few shillings extra that day. 

" I til be all right, Isaac," he ses. " I 
wouldn't "ave a drink if you asked me to. 
Don't seem to care for it now. I was saying 
so to you on'y last night, wasn't I, Peter?" 

Sh You was," ses Peter ; "so was I." 

"Then I've done you good, Ginger," ses 
Isaac, clapping 'im on the back. 

" You 'ave," ses Ginger, speak i lg between 
his teeth, "and I thank you for it. I don't 
want drink ; but I thought o T going to a 
music^'all this evening." 

" ( ioing to a woi f " ses old Isaac, drawing 
'imself up and looking very shocked. 

" A musio'all," ses Ginger, trying to keep 
'is temper. 

"A music- all?" ses Isaac; "why, it's worse 
than a puh, Ginger, I should be a very poor 

Original from 



friend o* yours if I let you go there — I 
couldn't think of it," 

•* Wet's it got to do with you, you grey- 
whiskered serpent ? " screams Ginger, arf mad 
with rage " Why don't you leave us alone ? 
Why don't you mind your own business? 
It's our money/ 1 

Isaac tried to talk to 'im, hut ? e wouldn't 
listen, and he made such a fuss that at last 
the coffee-shop keeper told 'im to go outside, 
Peter follered 'im out, and being very upset 
they went and spent their day's allowance in 
the first hour, and then they walked about 
the streets quarrelling as to the death they'd 
hke old Isaac to 
'ave when 'is time 

They went 
back to their 
lodgings at 
dinner-time ; but 
there was no sign 
of the old man, 
and, being 'ungry 
and thirsty, they 
took all their 
spare clothes to a 
pawnbroker and 
got enough 
money to go on 
with. Just to 
show their inde- 
pendence they 
went to two 
music- 'alls, and 
with a sort of 
idea that they 
was doing Isaac 
a bad turn they 
spent every far- 
thing afore they 
got 'ome, and sat 
up in bed telling 
'irii about the 
spree they'd 'ad. 

At five o'clock 
in the morning 
Peter woke up 
and saw, to 'is 

surprise, that Ginger Dick was dressed and 
carefully folding up old Isaac's clothes. At 
first 'e thought that (linger 'ad gone mad, 
taking care of the old man's tilings like 
that, hut afore J e could speak Ginger 
was awake, and stepped 
whispered to 'im to dress 
a noise. Peter did as r e 
more puzzled than ever, 


noliced that 'e 
over to f im and 
without making 
was told, and. 

saw Ginger make up all the old man's 



clothes in a bundle and creep out of the 
room on tiptoe. 

11 Going to J ide 'is clothes? " 'e ses. 
"Yes,'' ses Ginger, leading the way down- 
stairs; "in a pawn shot i. We'll make the old 
man pay for to-day's amusements." 

Then Peter see the joke and 'e begun to 
laugh so T ard that Ginger 'ad to threaten to 
knock 'is head off to quiet 'im. Ginger 
laughed 'imself when they got outside, and at 
last, arter walking about till the shops opened, 
they got into a pawnbroker's and put old 
Isaacs clothes up for fifteen shillings. 

First thing they did was to 'ave a good 

breakfast, and 
after that they 
came out smiling 
all over and 
began to spend a 
'appyday. Ginger 
was in tip -top 
spirits and so *was 
Peter, and the 
idea that old 
Isaac was in bed 
while they was 
drinking 'is 
clothes pleased 
them more than 
anything. Twice 
that evening 
policemen spoke 
to Ginger for 
dancing on the 
pavement, and 
by the lime the 
money was spent 
it took Peter all 
'is time to get 'im 

Old Isaac was 

in bed when they 

and the temper 'e was 

in was shocking ; hut Ginger sat 

on 'is bed and smiled at 'im as if 

'e was saying compliments to 'im. 

"Where's my clothes ? " ses 

the old man, shaking 'is fist at 

the two of 'em* 

Ginger smiled at Im ; then J e shut 'is eyes 

and dropped off to sleep* 

" Where's my clothes ? )J ses Isaac, turning 
to Peter. 

" Closhe ? " ses Peter, staring at 'im. 
" Where are they ? " ses Isaac. 
It was a long time afore Peter could under- 
stand wot e meant, but as soon as 'e did 'e 
staned to look for 'em. Drink takes penple 
in different ways, and the way it always took 

Original from 


up fok rirTEEH 

the money-box; 


Peter was to make 'im one o' the most 
obliging men that ever lived. He spent arf 
the night crawling about on alf fours looking 
for the clothes, and four or five times old 
Isaac woke up from dreams of earthquakes 
to find Peter 'ad got jammed under 'is bed, 
and was wondering what 'ad 'appened to 'im. 

None of 'em was in the best o' tempers 
when they woke up next morning, and Ginger 
'ad 'ardiy got 'is eyes open before Isaac was 
asking 'im about 'is clothes agin. 

" Don't bother me about your clothes," ses 
Ginger; "talk about something else for a 

" Where are they ? " ses Isaac, sitting on 
the edge of 'is bed. 

Ginger yawned and felt in 'is waistcoat 
pocket — for neither of 'em 'ad undressed — 
and then 'e took the pawn-ticket out and 
threw it on the floor. Isaac picked it up, 
and then 'e began to dance about the room 
as if 'e'd gone mad. 

" Do you mean to tell me you've pawned 
my clothes ? " he shouts. 

" Me and Peter did," ses Ginger, sitting up 
in bed and getting ready for a row. 

Isaac dropped on the bed agin all of a 
'cap. " And wot am I to do ? n he ses. 

u If you be'ave yourself," ses Ginger, "and 
give us our money, me and Peter'll go and 
get 'em out agin. When we've 'ad breakfast, 
that is. There's no hurry." 

" But I 'aven't got the money/' ses Isaac ; 
u it was all sewn up in the lining of the coat. 
I've on'y got about five shillings. You've 
made a nice mess of it, Ginger, you 'ave." 

"You're a silly fool, Ginger, that's wot 
you are," ses Peter. 

** Sewn up in the lining of the coat 1 " ses 
Ginger, staring. 

"The bank-notes was," ses Isaac, "and 
three pounds in gold 'idden in the cap. 
Did you pawn that too ? " 

Ginger got up in 'is excitement and walked 
op and down the room. " We must go and 
get 'em out at once," he ses. 

" And where's the money to do it with ? " 
ses Peter. 

Ginger 'adn't thought of that, and it struck 
'im all of a heap. None of 'em seemed to be 
able to think of a way of getting the other 
ten shillings wot was wanted, and Ginger was 
so upset that 'e took no notice of the things 
Peter kept saying to 'im. 

" Let's go and ask to see 'em, and say 
we left a railway-ticket in the pocket," ses 

Isaac shook 'is 'ead. " There's on'y one 
way to do it," he ses. "We shall 'ave to 

Digitized by GoOSle 

pawn your clothes, Ginger, to get mine out 

" That's the on'y way, Ginger," ses Peter, 
brightening up. "Now, wot's the good o' 
carrying on like that ? It's no worse for you 
to be without your clothes for a little while 
than it was for pore old Isaac." 

It took 'em quite arf an hour afore they 
could get Ginger to see it. First of all 'e 
wanted Peter's clothes to be took instead of 
'is, and when Peter pointed out that they was 
too shabby to fetch ten shillings 'e 'ad a lot o' 
nasty things to say about wearing such old 
rags, and at last, in a terrible temper, 'e took 
'is clothes off and pitched 'em in a 'eap on 
the floor. 

" If you ain't back in arf an hour, Peter," 
'e ses, scowling at 'im, " you'll 'ear from me, 
I can tell you." 

"Don't you worry about that," ses Isaac, 
with a smile. " Tm going to take 'em." 

" You ? " ses Ginger ; " but you can't. You 
ain't got no clothes." 

" I'm going to wear Peter's," ses Isaac, 
with a smile. 

Peter asked 'im to listen to reason, but it 
was all no good. He'd got the pawn-ticket, 
and at last Peter, forgetting all he'd said to 
Ginger Dick about using bad langwidge, took 
'is clothes off, one by one, and dashed 'em 
on the floor, and told Isaac some of the 
things 'e thought of 'im. 

The old man didn't take any notice of 'im. 
He dressed 'imself up very slow and careful 
in Peter's clothes, and then 'e drove 'em 
nearly crazy by wasting time making 'is bed. 

" Be as quick as you can, Isaac," ses 
Ginger, at last ; " think of us two a-sitting 
'ere waiting for you." 

" I sha'n't forget it," ses Isaac, and 'e 
came back to the door after 'e'd gone arf- 
way down the stairs to ask 'em not to go out 
on the drink while 'e was away. 

It was nine o'clock when he went, and at < 
ha'-past nine Ginger began to get impatient 
and wondered wot 'ad 'appened to 'im, and 
when ten o'clock came and no Isaac they 
was both leaning out of the winder with 
blankets over their shoulders looking up the 
road. By eleven o'clock Peter was in very 
low spirits and Ginger was so mad 'e was 
afraid to speak to 'im. 

They spent the rest o' that day 'anging out 
of the winder, but it was not till ha'-past four 
in the afternoon that Isaac, still wearing 
Peter's clothes and carrying a couple of large 
green plants under 'is arm, turned into the 
road, and from the way 'e was smiling they 
thought it must be all right. 
Original from 




11 Wot 'ave you been such a long time for ? " 
ses Ginger, in a low, fierce voice, as Isaac 
stopped underneath the winder and nodded 
up to 'em. 

" 1 met a old friend," ses Isaac. 

11 Met a old friend ? " ses Ginger, in a 
passion. " Wot d'ye mean, wasting time 
like that while we was sitting up 'ere waiting 
and starving ? " 

" I 'adn't seen 'im for years," ses Isaac, 
11 and time slipped away afore I noticed it" 

" I dessay," ses Ginger, in 
a bitter voice. *• Well, is the . . 
money all right?" 

44 1 don't know," ses Isaac; 
44 1 ain't got the clotnes." 

44 Wotl" ses Ginger, 
nearly falling out of the 
winder. 44 Well, wet 
'ave you done with 
mine, then ? Where 
are they? Come 

44 1 won't come 
upstairs, Ginger," 
ses Isaac, " because 
I'm not quite sure 
whether I've, done 
right But I'm not 
used to going into 
pawnshops, and I 
walked about trying 
to make up my 
mind to go in and 

44 Well, wot did 
you do then ? " ses 
Ginger, 'ardly able 
to contain hisself. 

"While I was 
trying to make up 
my mind," ses old 
Isaac, 44 1 see a man 
• with a barrer of 
lovely plants. 'E 
wasn t asking money for 'em, only old clothes." 

"Old clothcsV ses Ginger, in a voice as if 
'e was being suffocated. 

44 1 thought they'd be a bit o' green for you 
to look at," ses the old man, 'olding the 
plants up ; 44 there's no knowing 'ow long 
you'll be up there. The big one is yours, 
Ginger, and the other is for Peter." 

44 'Ave you gone mad, Isaac ? " ses Peter, in 
a trembling voice, arter Ginger 'ad tried to 
speak and couldn't. 

Isaac shook 'is 'ead and smiled up at 'em, 
and then, arter telling Peter to put Ginger's 
blanket a little more round 'is shoulders, for 
fear 'e should catch cold, 'e said 'e'd ask 
the landlady to send 'em up some bread and 
butter and a cup o' tea. 

They 'eard 'im talking to the landlady at 
the door, and then 'e went off in a hurry 

without looking be^ 
hind 'im, and the 
landlady walked up 
and down on the 
other side of the 
road with 'er apron 
stuffed in 'er moulb, 
pretending to be 
looking at 'er chim- 

Isaac didn't turn 
up at all that night, 
and by 
next morn- 
ing those 
two unfor- 
tunate men 
see ' o w 
they'd been 
done. It 
was quite 
plain to 
them that 
Isaac 'ad 
been de- 
cei v i ng 
them, and 
Peter was 
pretty cer- 
tain that 
'e took the 
money out 
of the bed 
while 'e 
was fussing about making it. Old Isaac 
kept 'em there for three days, sending 'em in 
their clothes bit by bit and two shillings a 
day to live on ; but they didn't set eyes on 
'im agin until they all signed on aboard the 
Planet, and they didn't set eyes on their 
money until tney was two miles below 


by Google 

Original from 

By Way of Autobiography. 

Bv C, B. Fry. 

[The following article has l>eeu written " by special request. 1 ' Mr. Fry's reluctance to talk about the 

grrai part which he has laketi in cricket, fmilljult, :iti(l athletics was difficult to overcome, but our 

readers will be delighted that lie has yielded lo persuasion.] 

V earliest recollections of 
athletics have to do with 
hi i»h jumping. At the age of 
about six, learning that an 
uncle of mine could jump 
nearly 6ft and could certainly 
clear with ease the big gate at the bottom of 
the carriage drive, I was fired with a spirit 
of emulation, and constructed a high-jumping 
apparatus with some long canes, which I 
printed out of the greenhouse. I practised 
a lot, but the only thing I can remember 
about it is that I dis- 
covered I could jump 
much higher with bare 
feet than with my boots 
on. Somewhere about 
this time I won the 
open high jump for 
boys at a Sunday- 
school treat at Orping- 
ton, in Kent, where we 
then lived. The prize 
was withheld from me 
because I did not be- 
long to the Sunday- 
school ; in fact, I had 
no right whatever to 
CO m pete . Neverthe- 
less, I won the event. 
I can remember taking 
the same sort of run 
and jumping in exactly 
the same kind of way 
as I did many years 
afterwards at Ox ford- 
About then I made my 
first acquaintance with 
cricket, Next door to us 
at Orpington lived a gentleman named Mr. 
Oliver livans, brother of Sir Francis Evans, 
M.P* He had turned his tennis lawn into a 
cricket pitch, with high netting all round it, 
and there he used to practise with Mr, 
Allen, son of the well-known publisher of 
RuskirTs books, who was our neighbour on 
thi.t other side. These two gentlemen were 
the* principal players of the local dubs at 
Orpington and St. Mary Cray, and I had an 
intense admiration for their prowess. I used 
to watch them at their practice over a thick 
quick - set hedge, One day after they had 
finished they invited me to come and have a 

Ftwn a Photo, by Hcnnah ami Kent, Brighton. 

few balls. My heart bounded to the skies, 
and 1 crept through a very small hole at the 
bottom of the hedge and enjoyed my first 
practice. After that, whenever they prac- 
tised, I went to look over the hedge to cadge 
an invitation. I always got it, for they were 
very kind. Where my intense keenness for 
cricket came From I cannot imagine, for I 
had never played before. My defensive 
play at this period of my career was 
very stubborn, but I had no strokes; 
in fact, my conception of the game con- 
sisted chiefly in not 
getting out and in mov- 
ing my bat as little as 
possible. However, my 
enjoyment was intense, 
I became a devotee of 
the game, and never 
missed a local cricket 
match. My great hero, 
besides my two patrons, 
was a left-hand bowler 
named Hawes, who 
played for St. Mary 
Cray, He was a won- 
derful field to his own 
bowling, and a dead 
shot at throwing down 
the wicket when the 
batsman played the 
ball back to him and 
backed up out of his 
ground. Hawes was a 
good bat and a local 
oracle on the game, 
I used to hang about 
to hear what he had 
to say on the theory of 
cricket; he said a good deal, but his great 
dictum, especially when he was bowled out 
with a small score, was, "Forward play's the 
thing," Acting on this dictum, much to the 
detriment of my success, I thought that the 
whole art of cricket consisted in playing for- 
ward, I mention this as a warning to youth, 
for it was not till twenty years afterwards, 
when I met Ranjit Sinhji, whose advice is, 
" Back play is the thing,' 1 that I began to get 
really up sides with first-class bowling. At 
present my batting is a mixture of Hawes 
and Ranjit Sinhji ; the more the latter 
element predominant tteei'ftiore runs I get, 




At the age of nine I went to a school at 
Chislehurst. It was a mixed sort of old- 
fashioned dame school ; the boys varied in 
age from nine to nineteen. Our games were 
rather curious. Here I began football. We 
played rules of our own, somewhat resem- 
bling those of the Harrow game. If you 
caught the ball on the full volley you made 
your mark and had a free kick ; if you 
mulled your catch it was "hands," and the 
other side had a free kick. But the rules of 
our game varied according to the captain's 
caprice. We only played one out-match that 
I remember : against a school from Bromley. 
As our opponents played the proper Asso- 
ciation rules and we played our own, and the 
umpire was an indecisive sort of fellow, we 
did not get very far with the match. My first 
cricket match was against the same school. 
I made seven runs — a four, and a three, both 
to leg. Curiously enough, seven has always 
been my unlucky number at cricket ; my lucky 
number is thirteen. We used to play on the 
West Kent ground. There I saw the best 
catch made I have ever seen. West Kent 
were playing some match, and a man in a 
deerstalker's cap came out to field as a 
substitute. He was sent to field long on. 
The batsman hit a tremendous balloon up in 
the air, the substitute ran back with all his 
might to get under it, jumped a stiff iron rail 
that encircles the ground, and caught the ball 
in the middle of his jump. Technically it 
ought not to have been out, but the batsman 
was a sportsman and retired. 

Our practice games were not well organized. 
One in particular I remember. It lasted 
one ball. Our best bowler chanced to be 
an Australian. He and I blacked one 
another's eyes more than once over the rival 
merits of "W. G." and Murdoch. Well, having 
picked up sides, the Australian started to 
bowl, but instead of bowling his usual over- 
arm, he fired in an underhand daisy-clipper, 
and a fatal. The victim was an obstinate 
Scotchman who refused to go out for "a 
sneak." There was some argument. The 
Scotchman collared the ball, the only one 
we had, and a stump, and edged off across 
the field. We followed, protesting. We tried 
to collar him, but he eluded us and made off 
across country. He headed down a very 
long hill towards Chislehurst Station and up 
the opposite hill right away to Bickley, with 
ten or more of us in full cry. We cornered 
him once or twice, but he kept us off with a 
pocket-knife in one hand and a stump in the 
other, and broke bay. Eventually, after 
about six miles run, we nailed him in a swing 

gate by stratagem and the aid of a postman, 
somewhere over near Bromley. We drove 
home in a four : wheeler, four of us and the 
captive inside, the rest on top, creating a 
great sensation all the way. The measles 
took me off next day, but when I came back, 
weeks afterwards, pear-drops were still being 
doled out after tea as a reward for catching 
the runaway. I did not learn much cricket 
at that school. Not long afterwards it 
changed hands, and was organized into a 
modern private school. We played proper 
Association football and proper cricket. I 
was centre forward, and had the honour at 
the age of twelve of playing for the West Kent 
Football Club, owing to one of their men not 
turning up. I touched the ball three times 
in that match. We played some small 
cricket matches against other schools. I 
was the spot batsman of our team, but had a 
great failing : I could never get runs in the 
first innings. 

One holiday, about this time, it was 
revealed to me that I could really jump a 
bit. I owned an ugly, one-eyed fox-terrier 
called Dan. One evening, up in the meadow 
above our garden, he came out of a hedge 
walking sideways, looking more evil than 
ever and foaming at the mouth. I took two 
steps, cleared a ditch and a highish hedge, 
dropped ioft. into our garden, and was up 
a slim plum-tree before you could say " knife/ 
Dan came slowly after and squatted at the 
bottom, but he brought a toad in his mouth, 
and I perceived he was not mad beyond the 
degree of trying to eat the toad. So I came 
down, got a saucer of water to make sure 
about the dog, and then went to look at what 
I had jumped over. It was much higher than 
my head ; not to mention the ditch. It was 
many years before I jumped as high again. 

The first race I ever won was a steeple- 
chase at a regatta at Charmouth, in Dorset- 
shire. The field was a mixed one, including 
a policeman, two coastguards, a fisherman, 
a gardener, and several boys. The course 
was about half a mile ; the first obstacle a 
big agricultural roller, through the upright 
shafts of which we had to climb. As no 
one after that knew .the course, and each one 
waited on the other to see where to go, the 
race was run very slowly till we got near the 
straight, which was a stretch of turf very 
much on the incline ; down this my legs Van 
away with me and I won very easily. A 
bob-tailed sheep-dog ran in the race and 
came in first, but was disqualified for not 
having paid any entrance-fee. The prize 
was half a sovereign, which was paid me 




across the grocer's counter. So I have been 
a professional under A. A. rules all my time. 
I remember experiencing for the first time 
in that race the delicious feeling of speed 
and the thrill of forging ahead at the finish. 
That was a lucky day ; in the evening I 
caught my first trout of decent size ; I lured 
hini with a black gnat, and he weighed just 
usjder a pound. 

In 1885 I went to Repton School, where I 
had a splendid chance in cricket, football, 
and athletics. I began my football there as 
a centre forward. We used to play two 
centre forwards and only two half-backs, 
Bul I never did much good at forward. My 
second year I played a few times at half- 
back, but eventually went full-back to fit into 
a House team. We used to have compulsory 
football on half holidays, but the best fun 
for all those outside the school team were 
the cup ties, junior and senior, for the House 
challenge cup, My word, what matches we 
had ! English Cup ties against Tottenham 
Hotspurs and Sheffield United are nothing to 
them. I got into the school team as right 
hack, and played for three years* We had 
very strong teams then, I can remember 
one terrific match in which we played a 
draw with the Derby County League team, 
and another in which 
we drew with Cam- 
bridge University. I 
believe I should have 
got into the school 
team a year earlier 
than I did had I not 
in a practice game 
taken upon myself 
to try to charge Mr, 
Harry Vassal), the 
great Rugby forward, 
who was, and still is, 
a master at Repton. 
Mr. Vassall weighed 
about 1 ;sl, and when 
he played Associa- 
tion with us main- 
tained his Rugby 
traditions by running 
as straight as a die, 
a n d w o e betide 
obstacles. Electing 
to make myself an 
obstacle, I passed 
away into space, and 
did not recover my 
equilibrium for a 
year; lack of judg- 
ment on my part 




Although, like most other footballers, I im- 
proved in value in some respects after I left 
school.and became heavierand stronger, I have 
never since been able to kick as neatly and 
accurately as I could then. I put this down 
partly to the constant practice we used to 
have at school in kicking a football about at 
odd hours, dozens of us at a time, on a piece 
of ground called the paddock, and partly to 
the constant playing of what we called 
"yard football" We used to play this game 
in the asphalt yards attached to our houses, 
wearing tennis shoes and using an india- 
rubber ball about a third the size of a foot- 
ball This game made one very accurate 
and quick with one's feet, I have often 
wished since I could get tire sunn 1 sort of 
practice, especially before English Cup ties, 
for it is far less strain on the legs than ball 
practice with a real football. 

When I went to Repton the captain ol 
cricket was Mr + F. G. J, Ford, the great 
Middlesex batsman. He was a magnificent 
school cricketer, and I can remember watch- 
ing him from the paddock bank in distant 
reverence. Mr. L. C. H, Pa la i ret got into 
the Repton team in my first summer; be was 
quite a small boy, but played in beautiful 
style. My first sphere of action was the 

fourth ground, where 
we phyed pick-up 
matches on half-holi- 
days, and had net 
practice on the prin- 
ciple of "you batted 
if you bowled the 
man out." In my 
third year, when Mr, 
L* C- H* Pa to i ret was 
captain, I got my 
cricket colours. My 
chief merit was being 
able to stick in, for I 
was a marvellously 
stiff player and could 
not hit a bit except 
on the leg side. This 
stiffness was due, I 
believe, to the mis- 
conception that the 
art of batting con- 
sisted entirely in play- 
ing forward ; I used 
to tie myself up into 
extraordinary knots 
trying to play forward 
at unsuitable balls, 
and I played forward 

I. A NT! CKICKET, . . 

I frdtti wror| gi wilh * tiff 




arms and wrists and no swing. However, 
after getting into the eleven I received 
some excellent coaching from the Rev. 
A. F. E. Foreman. He was an inspiring 
and encouraging coach, and had a way of 
making one play better without saying any- 
thing. The chief lesson he taught was to 
play your strokes hard, to put your bat up 
against the ball. He left you to develop 
your own style and make the most of your 
natural strokes. He succeeded in teaching 
me a certain amount of freedom ; and he is 
the only coach, except Alfred Shaw, in 1899, 
from whom I have ever learnt anything. In 
fact, any success I have had in cricket I owe 
greatly to Mr. Foreman. Our school pro- 
fessional was a good practice bowler, medium 
pace, right hand, but his only lesson was 
"Come forward to her," no matter where the 
ball pitched. The great defect of school 
coaching is that boys are taught to play 
forward and nothing else. Boys are not 
taught to play back or to use their feet 
properly, either in turning to place the ball 
or in running out to drive ; nor are they 
taught to alter their play according to the 
state of the wicket. By the end of my 
school time I could hit over-pitched and 
pull short bowling, but good length bowling 
gave me a good deal of trouble. I remem- 
ber one of the masters said he did not see 
how I was ever to make runs against 
first-class bowling. Still, I recollect once 
making twenty -eight against Mr. F. R. 
Spofforth, on a sticky wicket ; Spofforth's 
balls broke so much from the off that when 
I played forward at him the ball hit my bat 
and went away to leg. I have since made a 
useful and intentional stroke of that— which 
shows how you learn things at cricket. The 
most exciting cricket match I remember at 
Repton was a House final. We had about 
120 runs to get to win, but overnight a fellow 
in our house gave a "leaving grub," a sort of 
evening cricket lunch, in his study ; there was 
a defective pie, and seven of our men were 
poisoned. I escaped because I was carving 
salmon at the time the pie went round. 
Next day we went in to bat with four men. 
I was missed at slip in the first over, but 
afterwards made seventy-three, and we scraped 
home with the last of our four men in. 

In athletic sports a good many prizes came 
my way at school. I believe I first showed 
promise as a half-miler, but never did much 
good afterwards on the flat except in the 
100 yards. My chief events were the hurdles 
and the two jumps. My best high jump at 
school was 5ft. 6v£in., and my best long 

Digitized by LiOOgTC 

jump 21ft., which is still, I think, the record 
at Repton. School long jumping is usually 
very poor, partly because the jumping-place 
is generally very bad, but chiefly because 
boys jump too low. Mr. Foreman first taught 
me to go high in long jumping. He found 
me practising one rainy day, took off a big 
black mackintosh he was wearing, made a 
heap of it in front of the mark, and dared me 
to jump anywhere near it ; so I jumped high 
in the air and put about 3ft. on to my 
previous best. After that I took a great 
interest in long jumping. My hurdling 
method at school was rather peculiar. As 
a small boy I used to take five steps in 
between and then jump the hurdle. After- 
wards I set about learning the three-stride 
method. Now, the proper method, of course, 
is to take three strides in between and fly the 
hurdle in your fourth, coming down on the 
other foot from that with which you took off. 
But I fancied the method consisted in taking 
two strides in between and over in the third 
—an almost impossible feat ; though I had a 
good try at it, and after much practice 
succeeded in clearing two hurdles in that 
style. Needless to say, I found it no go, 
and gave it up. Then I tried four strides in 
between. This necessitates changing at 
each successive hurdle the foot you take 
off from if you fly the obstacle. I did not 
like changing my feet, so evolved a most 
peculiar way of clearing the hurdles. I used 
to take off with my right foot, shoot my 
left leg right out in front of me over the 
hurdle, and come down again on the same foot 
I took off from. I found I could go fairly 
fast that way, but our hurdles were several 
inches low; over those of full height I 
found the method defective. It is a great 
pity that hurdling in proper style is not 
taught at school with the hurdles, and the 
distances in between proportionately reduced 
to suit smaller boys. Done in proper style 
hurdling is the best of all athletic events, but 
in school sports it is the exception rather than 
the rule to see any competitor run with the 
three-stride method. 

Before going up to Oxford I got some 
experience of first-class football in playing for 
the Casuals on their northern tours. We 
played against Everton and Sunderland, and 
other of the League teams. I also played 
my first county cricket match before going 
up. It was for Surrey against Warwickshire 
at the Oval, the only time I played for Surrey. 
I made 1 and o not out. W. A. J. West, the 
famous umpire, who then played for Warwick- 
shire, bovr!?d mef r @i|*f| first innings with a 




yorker. The second innings we had only five 
to get to win, and Brockvvell obtained them 
before I had a hit. When I got a telegram 
asking me to play at the Oval, I was playing 
in a match at Mmehead against Lynton ; I 
was so delighted that I went in for free 
hitting, and nearly killed Sir George Newnes, 
who was playing on the other side, with a 
skimmer to square-leg. 

At Oxford I played all four years I was up 
in the Association football team. I was 
left back my first year, but changed to the 
right in my second, when Mr, W, J, Oakley 
came up. The main difference I noticed 

match in our season, but t unfortunately 
that match was the one against Cam- 
bridge. When we got to Queen's Club we 
found the ground frost-bound and crinkled 
with ice- The Cambridge captain was 
willing to play although the ground was unfit, 
I did not want to play, but as Oakley and 
myself were both engaged in the sports and 
stood to win three events between us, and as 
I thought our team was too good to lose 
under any circumstances, I consented. The 
Cambridge team was heavier than ours,, and 
beat us by their rushing tactics* It was a 
sad day. Mr. L. V. Lodge played a mar- 

J. Walker. 

V. \\ \l" - M , J ■ 

G. H. Rftlkui. 

W fc J. Ojiklcj. 

G. 0. Smi ih. 

J :. F- Billiard, 

C B. FRY AS CAPTAIN OF THE OXFORD kflOTHAfL TRAM, 1893 -^ [G'tflnwrn, (frjfrnt. 

F. W. OnrlLWL 

C, & Fry (CapLP. <l IX Hftwilt 

& N, Bwnrth-3mmi. 

between school and first-class football was 
that in the ordinary run of school matches 
the forwards opposed to one rarely had the 
ball in much control, and so the back could 
rush in and get a fairly easy kick, whereas 
against first class forwards, who kept the ball 
do^e, I found the difficulty was to get to the 
bill at all. We had npt much of a team 
my first year, but the other three were good 
ones, especially the third, of which I was 
captain. We had Mr. G, O, Smith as centre 
forward, Mr. \\\ J. Oakley at back, and Mr. 
G. B. Raikes in goal, all of whom played 
against Scotland for England. In fact, that 
team was one of the best there has been 
«U either University, We lost only one 

vellous game at back for Cambridge. None 
of the inter* Varsity matches I played in 
were very good ones, and I did not enjoy 
them much. In my first year at Oxford I 
played for England against the Canadians at 
the Oval. The English team was chiefly 
made up of amateurs, but was a strong one, 
and won easily. The Canadian team was 
not very good. 

For some reason or other Association is 
not nearly so popular at Oxford as Rugby, 
In my time, if a Rughy and an Association 
match were going on at the same time in 
the Parks, scarcely anyone would look on at 
the latter, while .the rppes round the Rugby 
enclosure w^ffeSffiroSl^ff 1 with hundreds of 




spectators. This was rather discouraging. 
I used to play three-quarter back in my 
college Rugby team, and very nearly got my 
Rugby Blue in my fourth year; in fact, I 
played For the 'Varsity fifteen in all matches 
till a fortnight before the match with Cam- 
bridge, when I had the ill-luck to crock my 
thigh. As a Rugby player 1 was a pure 
sprinter, I never learnt the art of falling on 
the ball to stop a rush, nor the art oF collar- 
ing people round the ankles* My tackling 
was of a very scrambling order, and consisted 
chiefly in jumping on my opponent's back 
and embracing his neck. liut I believe 1 
was chosen as reserve three-quarter for the 
South against the North that year. The 
Rugby game at Oxford, where they played 
the Welsh three-quarter game to perfection, 
suited me well, and I enjoyed it immensely, 
more, in fact* than Association ; but when, 
after coming down, I played for Blackheath 
and the Barbarians, I did not get on so well 
and returned to the 
other game. On the 
whole, I think that 
Rugby is a more exciting 
game than Association 
when the play is open 
and the three"-quarteis 
have plenty of running, 
but not when the play 
is close and consists of 
incessant scrimmaging. 
There is nothing in 
Association equal in 
excitement to a good 
combined run by Rugby three-quarters. On 
the other hand, I think the average Associa- 
tion game is quicker and more interesting 
than the average Rugby game* 

The most amusing Rugby game I ever 
played in was for the Corinthians against the 
Barbarian Sj before 1 played For Oxford. The 
Corinthians held a competition with the 
Barbarians, playing them at Rugby, Associa- 
tion, and cricket, and also meeting them 
at athletic sports on inter-University lines. 
We won easily at Association, and, funnily 
enough, beat our opponents also at their 
own game by two goals and two tries to two 
goals and one try. The Barbarian fifteen 
included seven or eight internationals, while 
only two or three of us had ever played 
Rugby before. The truth of it was, the 
ground was too hard for Rugby, and when 
the Barbarian phalanx rushed through our 
very amateur attempts at a scrum, they could 
not keep control of the ball. Our Forwards 
made wonderful work of dribbling the egg- 

Digitized by CiO i. 


shaped ball. Mr* P, M. Walters performed 
admirably for us at back. His brother, A.M., 
scored several tries ; when he got hold of the 
ball and an opponent tried to collar him, 
A, NT, instead of trying to dodge, rushed 
at and charged him with his shoulder. 
Our methods were very unorthodox, and 
took the Barbarians by surprise, But, after 
all j it was an extraordinary performance for 
fifteen Association players to defeat fifteen 
Rugby players, and those very good ones at 
the Rugby game. 

Since my ' Varsity days I have played 
chiefly for the Corinthians, We have had 
some most enjoyable football on our 
northern tours at Christmas time, especially 
against our old-time opponents, Queen's 
Park, at Glasgow, But perhaps the best 
matches in which I have played for the 
Corinthians were those against Aston Villa 
and Sheffield United for the Sheriffs Shield. 
We found these two clubs most sporling 

Two seasons ago t 
when I came to live 
near Southampton, 1 
was invited to play in 
the Southampton Club 
in their Southern league 
matches. Southampton 
were beaten in the first 
round of the Cup that 
year, but they won the 
Southern League cham- 
pionship. This year I 
had the uncommon 
pleasure for an amateur of getting into the 
final of tli e Cup. I have never enjoyed 
any football more than that I have played 
for Southampton. Cup ties are hard work, 
but they are fine sport. 

My experiences of track athletics belong 
entirely to my Oxford days. In theO-U.A.C, 
sports in my Fresh ma ns year I astonished 
myself by jumping 22ft- 7m, For this I got 
my Blue, and also a second string in the 
high jump. At Queens Club that year, 
against Cambridge, I further astonished 
myself by jumping 23ft. 5 in. I cannot re- 
member anything particular about that jump, 
except that I got a beautiful take off From the 
board and a splendid liFt up, and feh very 
neat in the air. It was a beautiful day For 
jumping, warm and fresh ; weather has a 
great effect on jumpers. My second year I 
won at Queen's Club with 23ft. oj^in., but in 
the trial sports at Oxford I did 23ft. 6 Kin,, 
which was the best I ever did. It was a 
curious jumo-ihaLi r_L .had only practised 


AM) liOU'N 



three times, and had spiked iny bii^ toe in 
landing in the pit, and I very nearly did not 
jump in the sports at all* I did not take off 
accurately on the board, but oin. behind it f so 
the actual distance I covered was 24ft, 3 J^in. 
My last stride before taking off was much 
shorter than usual, and I seemed to stop 
dead while you might count one before I 
took off ; however, for somfc reason or other 
1 seemed to develop more spring than usual, 
and went very high in the air. When I 
landed in the pit, instead of, as usual having 
to struggle for my balance not to fall back> I 
simply bounced clean out of the pit, and 
landed about 6fL away on the track. The 
success of that jump is still a mystery to me. 
My third year I jumped 23ft, at Oxford, 
but before the inter- 'Varsity sports bruised 
my heel badly, and though I won against 
Cambridge with 22ft 4m., I was n^ver able 
to jump properly again. I wonder I did 
not hurt my heel before, 
taking off was very hard on 
it In my run up to the 
jump the marks of my 
spikes were in a dead 
straight line one behind 
the other, but in my last 
stride I used to make a 
complete quarter turn to- 
wards the left , and slue my 
TiL«ht foot a good 12 in. or 
mure across to the left of 
the line of my run ; the out- 
side edge of my heel was 
planked to the ground with 
great force, the flat of my 
foot coming down after 
wards. It always felt lo 
me as if I got my spring 
from the small of my back 
and my hips* That sum- 
mer, in the sports between 
Oxford and Vale, I jumped 
without any practice, and was beaten by 
Mr. L. I\ Sheldon, of Yale, with 22ft iiin. 
In the last of my four tries I got dead 
on the board and felt I was going to 
make a good jump, but the board split 
under my spikes, land I went a terrific 
header into the sawdust. After that I was 
no good, as my heel bruised worse than ever. 
I never liked practising for long jumping, 
and never did well sin practice — only once 
or twice over 2 2 f t. • Long jumping is a 
great strain, and it is difficult to screw oneself 
up to the effort of will required for a big 
jump without the excitement of competition. I 
practised for long jumping chiefly by sprinting 

one day and high jumping the next ; but 
I believe what did me more good than any- 
thing els^ was doing standing jumps regularly 
every morning over a big arm-chair in my room* 
Of the three times I ran for Oxford against 
Cambridge in the 100 yards my only win, to 
be Irish, was a dead-hear. Curiously enough, 
I ran a dead-heat with the same man, Mr. A. 
Rams both am, three weeks before in the trial 
sports. My version of the race is that I won 
exclusively ; Mr. Ramsbotham is as equally 
dead sure he won. So the chances are that 
the judges were right in their decision. The 
reason I thought I won was that I did not 
see Ramsbotham until after we were past the 

From a Phntn. b^Strom, C{rmhridgr r 

post. It is a curious thing that in sprint racing 
the moment a competitor is the least bit in 
front of you be appears to you to be well 
ahead \ of course, you don't look at him 
unless you wish to lose a yard, but you can 
see him out of the corner of your eye without 
looking his wny, If a man is running dead 
level with you, you cannot see him at all 
But the worsted was broken nearer to him than 
to me, and an instantaneous photo, taken at the 
finish and reproduced on the next pa#e appears 
a trifle in his favour* I knew in the last ten 

* Mo*t read*r% we l .t"nk* on inspecting the photograph will 
come t» th< c:>ncluiiofl|rtft|T|H}c(|'-fl|yy|Yp'i th* firsi to break iHe 
worsteds Ed. 





From a Photo bfr iVean^ Cittnbridfft, 

yards of that race that 
someone was gaining 
on me. It is a very 
curious thing that, if 
a man is running be- 
hind you hut not 
gaining on you, you 
are not conscious of 
his presence, but the 
moment he is coming 
up to you, yen: feel 
him at once by in- 
stinct. The last year 
I ran a very curious 
thing happened to 
mc. I got a big lead 
at the start, and two- 
thirds through the 
race I held so good a 
lead that I think I 
must have won ; un- 
fortunately, it occur- 
red to me to wonder 
where my comrade, 
Mr. (J. Jordan, was, 
and in that brief flash 
of inattention, though 
I did not look round 
or consci on s 1 y relax 
my pace, the whole 
field passed me and 
I finished last, A 
man to sprint his 
fastest must glue his 
mind to the effort of 


* J ^*"~lMVireiTYOFMI 

reaching the tape ; if 
he relaxes his will for 
a moment he auto- 
matically slackens his 
pace ; at any rate, this 
holds good for run- 
ners who do not race 
sufficiently often to 
make full speed a 
habit, Once at 
Oxford, in a heat of 
a strangers' race, I 
ran the 100 yards in 
ioscc. by the aid of a 
slight wind. In the 
final heat, which was 
also timed at iosec, 
I was beaten by a 
fraction of an inch. 
One of the judges 
gave me the race, the 
other gave it a dead- 
heat, but the referee 
decided that the other 
man had won by half 
an inch. The prize I 
got for second in this 
race, a cigarette-case, 
had a curious adven- 
ture. It was stolen 
out of my pocket at a 
cricket match one 
year, and when I 
played at the same 
place the next year 




it came back by post with an apology. The 
first time Oxford met Yale I t;ot so good 
a start in the 100 yards that I won; it was 
rather a surprise, as 1 had been playing 
cricket during the previous month or so, and 
had only had four days' training, 

Iteing fortunate enough to make a century 
in the Freshmen's cricket match at Oxford, I 
was at once given a trial in the eleven, and 
in course of time got my Blue* At one time 
I feared 1 should be left out, so I trained for 
a week, and whether by reason of this or 
of a good wicket I made 115 runs against 
Somersetshire and re-established myself, 
L'pon my Oxford cricket, though I enjoyed 

I cut past third man harder than my hardest 
drive. After that I recovered myself and 
played a stocky, quiet innings of forty-four. 
As Mr, M. K. Jar dine made 140 and Mr 
V. T. Mill 114, we realized a winning total. 
Cambridge had to follow on, and made a big 
score in their second innings, but we won 
easily, 1 made twenty-seven second innings. 
Next year we had a weak side, and as no 
miracle intervened to save us we got horribly 
beaten. I made seven and thirty one, I 
think. My third year I was captain, and 
delighted myself by making 100 not out 
It was not a brilliant innings, but it was 
satisfactory to me. I had made scarcely any 

R, P. IrfTl* 

Q, B. Raik^ 

G. R. RardjwelL 

The lata- I>. i£ Porta*, 

p. a. itiiiiip* 

K. C. N. Main*. IL U. <i, Leraoii-Gower. 

1L K. Fottor. 

FWwm Pktita. bg\ 


[Giiiman. Oxford. 

it intensely, I do not look back with much 
approval. I was a stiff, shoulder-tied sort of 
batsman, unless the bowling happened to suit 
ftt exactly, and a laborious sort of bowler. 

The inter- 7 Varsity cricket match of my first 
year ended in a glorious and unexpected 
triumph for Oxford. My chief recollection 
of the match is that I felt abjectly nervous 
™il I went in. Nervousness, as a rule, made 
c*e stiffer and*slower than ever ; but on that 
occasion the effect was exactly the reverse. 
Re won the toss, went in first t and lost two 
Tickets for o- Then I went in. Now, I am 
not and never was a cutter, but the first ball 
I received, a fastish f;ood-length one on the 
middle stump, bowled by Mr F. S, Jackson, 

***** -* 

runs all the season ; in fact, my average 
previous to the Lord's match was only seven, 
and the critics said I ought to have turned 
myself out of the team. The strange part 
of it was I was in first-rate form and could 
play splendid innings at the nets. How- 
ever, nothing went ri^bt in matches, and I 
was very sick. I could not get a bat I liked ; 
you never can when you are not making runs. 
Just before we started from Oxford to play 
our outmatches, old Petty, the head of the 
ground staff, gave me a bat which he declared 
was a beauty. It was a Warsopp, of yood 
grain, but much too heavy for me, and w:is 
handed tome in an old-fashioned green baize 

bat-cover* The first time I tried it 1 made a 
Original from 




century at Hove against Sussex, and I used 
it in the inter- 1 Varsity match. My innings 
was slow and scratchy till I got eighty-three, 
and the last man came in. This was Mr. 
R. P. Lewis, a first-rate wicket-keeper, but a 
batsman who often 
failed to stay in, He 
came in looking 
pale, but assured 
me, in a husky 
voice, "It's all right, 
Charles ; I won't 
get out" He played 
part of an ovtrr ; 
then I had a go. I 
hit a lofty fourer on 
the off and two on 
the on-side, and 
finally ran out with 
a most audacious 
pull, a curious finish 
to the sort of 
innings I had been 
playing. My part- 
ner was bowled the 
very next ball The 
Cambridge bowling 
was not very good 
that year. In my 
last inter - 'Varsity 
match I narrowly 
escaped "a pair of 
spectacles." We 
began our first 
innings in a light so 
bad that the gas was 
lighted In the tele- 
graph-rooms ; but 
the umpires were 
obdurate. Under the circumstances I fail to 
understand why I tried to hook a straight 
good-length ball, especially as the pitch was 
very fast. Anyway, I was caught and bowled 
by Mr. C, E + M. Wilson for a The second 
innings, after snicking one run, I was both 
l.b.w. and bowled. 

The first century I ever made in a county 
match was 
for Sussex 
shire at Bris- 
tol. That 
was the first 
time I saw 
wicket was a 
sticky one, 

c. b, kkv i j hac1']sin(; in Hi^s gakdkn. 
From a PAetfa by the Globe Phut* Co.. Southampton. 

and I made some strange strokes off J. J. 
Ferris and Roberts, besides being morally 
bowled about half-a-dozen times by C. L 
Tuwsisend's leg breaks, which I had no notion 
of playing. But 1 made 109. Next day I 

missed four dolly 
catches at mid-off, 
and nearly lost the 

The first day of 
that match we had 
adventures* It was 
August Bank Holi- 
day, and the ground 
was so saturated 
with rain that wc 
could not play; but 
as it was fine over- 
head the crowd 
rebelled* They in- 
vaded the ground 
to cut up the pitch, 
but Spry, the ground 
man, nipped out 
and roped off a 
piece of turf some 
thirty yards away 
from the pitch, and 
into this the mob 
dug its heels and 
u mbrel las. We 
were then besieged 
in the pavilion. 
*'W, G." tried to 
smooth the crisis 
by organizing a 
football match, but 
the crowd would 
not let us out to 
he and Mr. W. L, Mur- 
speeches without effect, 
late, we escaped by back- 

play. Then 

doch made 

Finally, quite 


After Ran jit Sinhji began to play for 

Sussex I had an opportunity of observing 

how cricket ought really to be played. 

Although I have never been able to play in 

the least like 
him, 1 have 
always made 
many more 
runs from 
the time I 
began to 
study the 
way he uses 
his bat 


From n Photo, fry (he Globs Photo. €o, t Sovtiwrnpttm, 

by ^OOgk 


Fighting the Sea. 

By Nicholas Everitt, 

•* Attf Wind und A her gehautts GHkk hi SchwanktiuV — GUTZKOW, 


|EW i^ople, perhaps, realize the 
enormous power exerted by 
great waves driven upon a 
shore before a gale. Only 
those who have seen the 
extreme ruin and devastation 
created upon defences apparently as ^olid as 
the living rock can obtain any idea of what 
this power really is, and what are the diftv 
culties to be confronted by those whose duty 
it is to construct sea-harriers against the 
terrific battery of the waters* Next to actual 
experience, how- 
ever, there is no- 
thing which can 
convey so power- 
ful an impression 
as such a series 
nf photographs as 
those here repro- 
duced. The tre- 
mendous force 
exerted by the 
crash of a big 
nave is shown in 
the most impres- 
sive manner pos- 
sible to imagine. 
WIil never such a 
wave as that which 
appears in the 
photograph above 
reproduced en- 
counters such an 

obstacle as that 
depicted in our 
second illustra- 
tion, repeating its 
terrific blow with 
rhythmical pre- 
cision, the result, 
as shown in the 
photographs which 
follow, is striking 
beyond words. 
This power of the 
waters may be 
studied w i t h 
advantage at 
Lowestoft, where 
these photographs 
were taken, But 
fully to realize the 
special danger to 
which the whole 
of the East 
Anglian coast is subject from the wash or 
scour of the sea, it is necessary to under- 
stand what is called the ''set" of the tides 
in the North Sea — an extremely interesting 

Now, the great Atlantic tide wave with its 
enormous swell sweeps up along the west 
coast of Ireland and the Hebrides, and follow- 
ing a rule common to tides in general bears to 
the ri^ht round the north coast of Scotland 
and the Orkney and Shetland Isles, and there 
meeting the North Sea forces it southwards 


Original from 





through the narrow Straits of Dover, where, 

following the rule before mentioned, the main 

portion bears to the right along the French 

and Dutch coasts. The western fringe of it, 

however, runs, though at less height, round 

the Kentish Foreland to the estuary of the 

Thames, where it meets the North Sea 

tide, which, nevertheless, is of 

somewhat different force, being 

exactly twelve hours older from 

the Atlantic than the Channel 

tide, which it meets, 

Owing to this meeting of 
the two tides off the Thames 
estuary, and to the fact that 
northward of this the one tide 
is flowing when the other is- 
ebbing, the average rise at the 
former place is very consider- 
ably greater than it is farther 
north— more than twice as high, 
for instance, as is the average 
rise at Lowestoft, where, indeed, 


From a i'Au&i. 

between the coast of the British Isles 
and thai of Norway. On reaching 
the great Dogger Bank its progress 
is to a large extent diverted south- 
eastward towards the English coast* 
South of the Dogger Bank, and even 
nearer to our coast, is the Wells 
Bunk. These great banks, for tiling 
a more or less continuous line 
(though, of course, with an opening 
between), force the sea into the com 
paratively narrow channel lying be- 
tween their western edge and the 
English coast as far as the mouth of 
the Thames. 

The ebbing tide follows, of course, 
the opposite direction, and it will 
thus be seen that the tides nf the 
North Sea, though apparently (to 
the uninitiated visitor to the east 
coast) ebbing and flowing directly 
from and on to the shore eastwafds 
and westwards, in reality run or 
11 set " up and down the coasts 

It is not, however, with the 
North Sea tide only that we have to 
deal Some part of the Atlantic: 
tide is diverted by the south-west 
promontory of England and Hows up 
the English Channel, where it be- 
comes known as the Channel tide, 
and rushes with increasing force 

by Google 

A M \IM/ VIEW -\ - 1 1 Ji ■ .. M , :■■■■>. \\ii IK iw I I" MO.m OINCKFTF 



from n Fhoto, 

Original from 




it is practically high tide at the same time as it 

js low water on the apposite coast of Holland. 

When, however, we follow the English coast 

still farther north we discover that, owing 

to the jutting out of the Norfolk promontory 

right into the wake of the North Sea tide, 

:l:at part of the coast-line that actually faces 

north is subjected to a rise nearly equal to 

that at the mouth of the Thames, whilst 

Then we get round to the Wash we find, as 

f^oLild be expected 

from its peculiar 

formation and 

situation, the 

mghest tide of all. 

Though, as we 

have seen, the rise 

a Lowestoft is 

com par a t i ve 1 y 

small, averaging, 

perhaps, about 5ft., 

still the tide in the 

roadstead there 

runs quite as 

strongly as the 

higher rising tides 

farther north and 

south, if not 

stronger. This is 

Kcounted for by 

the channel caused 

by the Dogger and 

Redshanks, which 

finds its narrowest 

part approximately 
at this section of 
the coast. 

It will be noticed 
that the channel 
formed between 
these great banks 
and the maii> 
land is some- 
what of the bottle 
shape, and this 
also is that of the 
North Sea itself. 
It is evident, there- 
fore, that the in- 
corning or flood 
tide will be <:f 
greater force off 
that part of the 
coast now under 
consideration, and 
will hence cause a 
greater "scour" 
of the beach than 
will the outgoing 
or ebb tide. Consequently, the tendency 
is for the sand and shingle to move south- 

That this is so is very evident from the 
fact that wherever you have a projection into 
the sea on this coast, there, with hardly an 
exception, you will find the beach makes up 
on the north of it, as witness the accumula- 
tion north of the harlx>ur mouth at (Jreat 
Yarmouth and, to a less extent, north of 



Fratti H Photo. 

Original from 

by Google 




the north pier at I-owestoft. This explains 
at once the consequences of building out a 
solid pier on this part of the coast and of 
the principle of the various sea groins. The 
action of both the pier and the groin is the 
same, but the former (being of much greater 
magnitude and projection), whilst it causes an 
accumulation or making up of the heach to 
the northward, denudes the beach immediately 
to the south of the shifting sand and shingle 
that wuuld naturally have been brought there 
hy the flowing tide without correspondingly 
protecting it from the force of that tide ; 
hence the damage tothe coast indirectly caused 
hy large solid piers is often very considerable. 
The small groins, on the other hand, are often 
found of very great service, for their very 
smallness prevents them from interfering with 
each other's action, and when placed at fre- 
quent intervals they cause a number of small 
accumulations near enough together to 
protect the whole line or Ciiast. 

We have so far only glanced at the effects of 
ordinary tides unaffected by the influence of 
the wind, and to what extent the force of an 
incoming tide is increased by a gale only those 
who have watched the effects of one can realize. 

Curious as it may sjem, the wind which 
has the greatest tendency to increase the rise 
of the tide at Lowestoft is one blowing, to 
some extent, off the land— we mean a north- 
west wind. To understand the reason of 
this we have again to examine our two tides, 
A glance at the map will show that the flow 
of the North Sea tide as far as Lowestoft 

Ness is in the main south-east, whilst that of 
the Channel tide is easterly, with, as we have 
seen, a tendency to lean to the right south- 
ward on the coast of France, When, then, 
we get a gale from the north-west across the 
Atlantic coincident with an incoming tide, 
the North Sea, with the huge volume of the 
main ocean behind, is driven with increased 
force and fury down our eastern coast, whilst 
at the same time and from the same cause 
the Channel tide, which ought then to lie 
receding, is backed up by the excessive swell 
of the Atlantic, and this meeting the North 
Sea tide causes an enormous increase of 
water along the eastern coast. 

The rise of neap tides at Lowestoft is 
about 3ft., and of springtides, on an average 
under normal conditions, about 6^2ft,; but 
th ■ latter, under the influence of a big north 
west gale, is sometimes increased to as much 
as 12ft. When it is remembered that the 
pressure of a body of water at rest is pro- 
portionate to its depth, and that the rate at 
which waves travel under the impetus of a 
gale may amount to anything from twenty to 
forty miles an hour, the force with which the 
sea breaks on to an obstruction as a cliff or 
sea- wall may to some extent be imagined. 

This is perhaps not the place to inquire 
whether the authorities of Lowestoft have so 
far erected their defences on the soundest 
principles of engineering. But what the diffi- 
culties are which have to be encountered may 
he readily imagined by anyone who studies 
the illustrations of this article. 


From a. Photo- 

by CiC 


Original from 



T was the height of the summer 
season, and on the crowded 
pier a little girl in a lace 
frock, who had frolicked with 
greater vigour than any of her 
kindred spirits on the threshold 

paused for breath, tossing back 
sun -ton net, with its over- 





of life's day » 

her elaborate 

powering strings of broad white satin ribbon* 

A sigh of relief escaped her as the wind 

made merry with her curls. 

"Take care your bonnet doesn't blow 
**&>',*' said a voice at her elbow, while a 
iiridly band t small and fragile, saved the 
frilled headgear from falling to the ground. 

Victorine, of the lace and curls, looked up 
■fcb a quick *' Thank you/' 

She saw beside her a little girl of her own 
height and size, but the stranger could boast 
no dimples or wayward curls, no chiffons and 

Her sharp face had a pinched, unchildish 
look, which bespoke suffering. 

A keen observer would have known at 
once the stern hand of the oppressor, either 
poverty or ill health, played some part in the 
isle of that thin little morsel of humanity. 
She was dressed in serviceable blue serge, 
her straw hat had seen better days, and yet 
ctery detail of her attire, every movement of 
the emaciated frame, every word and feature, 
Sniped her as well bred. 

"What is your name ?" asked Victorine. 

This was a question by which the little 
girf in the lace frock always manifested her 
Lnterest m the unknown. 

" Herminie Tempest, 1 
leaning up against the 
from the musicians. 

She looked curiously at Victorine, her eyes 
glowing suddenly at the sight of her turquoise 
necklace and the tiny gold bangles clasping 
the plump little arms. A miniature chain 
dotted with charms hung from her waist, and 
she wore a wee brooch with her name in 

The children hardly knew why, but the 
delights of dancing round the bandstand 
faded to insignificance, and instead they 
lingered talking, Victorine discovered that 
Herminie had been ill ; she was here for 
her health, and not simply because her 
people were tired out by 

"jtWhat is it like to be 

the London 

ill?" asked 

bed, and it's horrid ! " 

by Google 

Victorine, curiously. 

"Oh, you lie in 
Herminie declared. 

At last the chiming of a great clock on the 
pavilion warned them they must part. 

li Miss May bourn, my governess, is beckon- 
ing me," whispered Victorine. "Can't we 
walk back together? Who is looking after 
you ? " 

Herminie pointed to an insignificant little 

"She is the servant at our lodgings; she 
likes coming on the pier, 1 will tell her I 
want to go home now; 1 

The children trotting in front of their 
attendants managed to keep together. 

"That is where I am staying," said 
Herminie, pointing across the road. 
Original from 




"Oh, what a nasty little house 1 " cried 
Yictorine, expressing her thoughts aloud. 

" Yes, it is rather stuffy indoors," 
Herminie confessed, " but I go out a great 
deal, and then I ilon't smell the dinner cook- 
ing. It's always like that when you go away 
from home, but 1 did not mind it before I 
was ill. Is your place very stuffy, too?" 

Victorine's big, round eyes opened widely. 

14 Oh, no! We are staying at the Hotel 
Imperial, and 
it's ever so big ! " 

She pointed 
to a palatial 
building on the 
esplanade, with 
gold balconies 
full of flowers. 

Miss May- 
bourn d r ew 
nearer and Her- 
minie darted 
away, rejoining 
the breathless 
little maid, pant- 
ing after her 
under the shade 
of a dirLy white 
cotton parasol. 

" I hope you 
haven't been 
dull," said Vic- 
torme, with one 
of her coaxing 
smiles, as she 
took Miss May- 
bourn's hand ; 
** but, you see, 
I made friends 
with that little 
girl. When you 
make friends 
with a person, 
you like to talk 
to them, don't 
you ? " 

tl I thought 
she looked a 
very nice child/' 
replied Miss 
May bourn, who 

had noticed the inborn air of distinction 
which Herminie unconsciously possessed. 


The following day being Sunday, Victor! ne, 
in a still more elaborate frock of exquisite 
lace, accompanied her mother to church, 
Mrs, Amble ton made a truly remarkable 

Digitized by G* 

figure, for she knew r no moderation in dress 
and advertised her great wealth by displaying 
the fabulous fancies of fashion to a daring 
extent. She took with her to church an ivory 
prayer-book, a jewelled scent-bottle, and an 
extremely pretty child, toying with each in 
turn, and rustling out before the sermon, well 
aware she had attracted the attention of many 
curious eyes. 

Her husband, a stout man with a red 

beard, joined 
her on the es- 
planade, where, 
by mutual con- 
sent, the com- 
munity paraded 
either to criti- 
cise their neigh- 
bours, exercise 
their limbs, or 
inhale the salt 
sea breezes* 

V i c t o r i n e 
looked eagerly 
for h e r new 
friend, but des- 
paired of find- 
ing her in the 

Suddenly Mrs. 
Ambleton fel t 
an excited pull 
at her arm, and 
a moment later 
she was aware 
that Yictorine 
hail publicly 
saluted, both by 
bowing, waving, 
and smiling, a 
shabbily - dress- 
ed little girl with 
a tall woman in 
rusty black. 

In a few 
words the child 
told how they 
had met. 

Mrs. Amble- 
ton's face grew 
red, even under its coating of powder. 

"You must never mix vtith children of 
that stamp/' she said " I don't mind if you 
play with some of the smart little boys and 
girls in the hotel, but it is dreadful to talk to 
people on the pier! If you see her again, 
remember you are not to speak ! " 

A lump rose in Yictorine "s throat, so that 
Original from 




she could not answer ; a mist gathered before 
her eyes, yet the sun still shone brightly as 

Meanwhile Herminie was vanishing in the 
distance, explaining to her mother, the 
Hon- Mrs. Tempest, why she had been so 
warmly recognised by the little girl in the 
lace frock. 

44 But, my dear, she is the child of that 
exceedingly vulgar-looking woman ! " gasped 
Mrs. Tempest. "I know the mother well 
by sight, and have been told they own a 
large upholstery establishment in London. 
I don't like your having any acquaintance 
with such people. Pray do not talk to 
Victorine again." 

Though terribly poor, Mrs. Tempest was 
exceedingly proud. Herminie felt a pang of 
disappointment, for the child, whose whole 
nppearance .suggested wealth and luxury, 
fascinated and dazzled her. 

Mrs. Tempest thought how wan, tired, and 
ill she looked, and her own face grew paler, 
while her heart-beats quickened. To the 
lonely widow this one ewe lamb converted a 
grey, cheerless life into something worth the 
living. For Herminie's sake she bitterly 
resented the reverses of fortune which made 
the struggle so hard ; for Herminie her heart 

44 Is it wicked to have an upholstery place?" 
asked the child, with a very deep sigh. 

" Wicked ! Why, of course not ! What 
ever put such an idea into your head ? " 

" Because I am not to talk to Victorine." 

"Ah !" murmured Mrs. Tempest, "that is 
a very different matter, but you will under- 
stand some day." 

Herminie wondered how soon "some 
day" would come, when all these queer 
problems might be made plain. She looked 
back, but Victorine was out of sight. 

" I shall keep away from the pier," she 
inwardly resolved. " It would be horrid 
to be there and not to speak ! " 

Her spirits flagged, she walked slowly, and 
every time her mother asked if she were 
tired Herminie shook her head. She was 
afraid of making her mother sad ; she knew 
the old feeling of illness, recognising its 
familiar touch, conscious of the enemy's 

44 Mother must not be bothered," she 
thought ; " I shall be well, perhaps, to- 
morrow ; I don't want her to feel anxious." 

In the small, wasted frame there burnt 

brightly the spirit of endurance. She was 

too unselfish to complain, too unselfish even 

to tell her mother how fond she had grown, 

Vol. «w.-io. 

Digitized by LiOOfilC 

during one short hour, of the little girl in the 

lace frock. 


It was not till a week later that Victorine 
happened to see the lodging-house maid who 
had been with Herminie on the pier. 

They were both looking into the same 
shop window, richly decked with fruits and 

Victorine edged up against her, avoiding 
Miss Mayboum's eye. 

44 How is Herminie ? " she asked. 

The girl started. She was leaning forward, 
resting both hands on the round wooden 
knob of her cotton sunshade. 

44 She's mortal bad, thank you, missy. I 
was just wishing I could take her Lome of 
those fine, big grapes. Her mother is 
regularly distracted ; she thinks the doctor 
here is not treating her right." 

Victorine stared. Then she brushed the 
curls from her eyes, and had only time to 
exclaim, 44 1 didn't know she was ill. Oh, I 
am so sorry ! " before Miss Maybourn hurried 
her away. 

For some moments Victorine did not 
speak. A very active little brain, may be 
busily at work even under a sun-bonnet. 

44 What are you thinking about?" asked 
Miss Maybourn, presently, noticing the 
unusual wistfulness in the baby-face. 

44 1 was thinking of all the money I've 
saved," answered Victorine. " It would buy 
such lots and lots of grapes. What do people 
like when they are ill ? I should want a doll 
in a blue frock that would shut its eyes when 
it lay down, and a heap of picture-books. I 
have been keeping my money till my legs 
grew a little longer, and then I meant to buy 
a very tiny bicycle, because it would be ages 
before I could ride a big one. I think I'll 
try and forget I wanted a bicycle and get 
some things for Herminie instead. Mother 
won't mind, because if Herminie is in bed I 
can't play with her, and I need not say who 
the things came from." 

Miss Maybourn remembered the distin- 
guished-looking child who, despite her plain 
and somewhat worn attire, appeared so un- 
mistakably well bred, and she could not find 
it in her heart to thwart Victorine. 

She knew how eagerly the money had 
been treasured, and was sure the sacrifice 
needed a very strong effort — one which 
would strengthen Victorine's character, 
though the child certainly looked more like 
a French doll than a person capable of 

44 1 don't believe," said the little voice, with 




a suspicious tremor in it, " that a bicycle can 
be as nice as it looks ! I sha'rrt want one at 
all for quite a long time, you know." 

The rose-bud mouth was set firm, there 
were no dimples to be seen. 


The lodging-house door was never locked, 
and mysterious parcels with Herminie's name 
attached to them perpetually made their ap- 
pearance in the narrow hall Herminie was 
quite sure a fairy brought them and told her 
mother so, with eyes that Brightened in spite 
of weakness and pain. 

Mrs. Tempest, watching her sick child's 
pleasure, blessed the unknown donor, for- 
getting her pride in 
the warmth of her 

Such flowers I such 
fruit ! such toys ! After 
the first few days of 
anonymous offerings, 
Herminie asked regu- 
larly what the fairy had 

Herminie, with 
childish intuition, had 
just the faintest sus- 
picion of who the fairy 
might be. Mrs. Tem- 
pest never thought of 
Victorine, the little 
daughter of that flashy 
Mrs. Ambleton T who 
boast cd n o pa trici a n 
descent, but only the 
golden key to luxury, 

Besides drawing 
lavishly from her 
money - box, Victorine 
fou n d pi en t i f u I stores 
of fruit in the big 
private sitting - room 
they occupied on the 
first floor. This she 
was at liberty to use, 
and she had only to 
scramble on her fathers 
knee and rummage 

openly in his pockets for him to yield his 
treasure with a good-natured smile. 

Victorine, with custom, grew bolder as she 
darted into the gloomy hall of what she still 
called "a nasty little house. 11 Sometimes she 
even lingered a moment, just to prove her 
courage to Miss May bourn, who waited 
anxiously outside. 

She always felt nervous when the dainty 


figure of her charge vanished from sight, 
and sighed with relief at its reappearance. 

One particularly bright morning Victorine 
kept her waiting longer than usual, and she 
could see through the open door the little 
white figure talking with a tall woman in 

Mrs, Tempest had telegraphed for a 
specialist who saw Herminie in London. 
The child was worse and the mother grew 
desperate. She kept running to the door at 
every sound in her eagerness for a reply. It 
was thus she caught the fairy, red-handed. 
41 What are you doing ? ,+ she asked. 
Her grey eyes were full of tears, she was 
white to the lips and trembling. Her pitiable 
look of distress in 
stantly broke down Vic- 
torine's shyness. She 
held out. a minute 
hand, and looked up 
sympathetically from 
the shade of her white 

" Oh, please don't 
cry ! * whispered the 
little voice ; (1 1 have 
brought some things 
for Herminie, only I 
didn't want anyone to 
know. You see, my 
mamma said I wasn't 
to play with her; I may 
only talk to the children 
in the hotel, and not 
to the children on the 

The genuine concern 
in that small pink and 
white face touched 
Mrs. Tempest deeply. 
She bent down and 
kissed Victorine. 

" You have been so 
kind, so kind ! " she 
said, brokenly, "Dear 
little girl, why did 
you think of my Her- 
minie ? ? 

"I don't know/ 
"but I suppose I love 




answered Victorine, 
her very much." 

Mrs, Tempest remembered that Sunday 
morning. She could see again the child 
waving, and hear Herminie's plaintive ques- 
tion, "Is it wicked to have an upholster v 
place ? " 

"Telegram !" 

The word fell with an ominous sound on 
Original from 




Mrs. Tempest's ear* She tore the envelope 
open in a frenzy of anxiety. 

** 1>i\ Fairholnie has left for his holiday on 
the Continent/' she read. 

A groan escaped hen 

Dr. Fairholme away ! It seemed to seal 
Herminie's doom. He not only thoroughly 
understood her ease, hut was a personal 
friend and aware of their circumstances. 
He had shown them great kindness in the 
past , and Mrs. Tempest could have trusted 
him not to press her for the money. 

She forgot Victorine as she turned away 
with a stifled bob* 

ih The London doctor can't come ! " she 
said to the land- 
lady, who appeared 
on the stairs, and 
her voice vibrated 
with a dull misery 
that filled Vie- 
torine with a sense 
of terror. 

Without another 
word the child fled 
away, haunted by 
the sound of that 
melancholy voice, 
followed by the 
echo of a deep, 
low sob. 

Silently she ac- 
companied Miss 
Maybourn to the 
beach, and, seated 
under a break- 
water, thought out 
many things, 

Perhaps some 
guiding angel 
whispered in her 
ear, perhaps the 
song of the sea 
inspired the little 
mind. She was 
thinking especially 
of a gentleman 
with a pointed heard and a little bald patch 
on the top of his head, who had come the 
previous day to the Hotel Imperial 

Her father pointed him out to her mother 
as an extremely celebrated London physician, 
He occupied a suite of rooms next to theirs ; 
he had a very grand, imposing air. Several 
times she hod seen him through the open 
door, reading, or writing at a table strewn 
with papers. 

Suddenly she grew tired of the beach, and 
begged Miss M:iy bourn to take her home* 

by LiOOglC 

Dr. Grainger felt he required rest A 
great reader, he loved to dang himself into 
an arm-chair by the flower-laden balcony and 
enjoy the companionship of a good book. 

It was stiflmgly hot, and he had left the 
door of his sitting-room open* 

So engrossed was he that the soft patter of 
little feet hastily approaching his chair failed 
to attract his attention. 

It was not until a small hand gently tapped 
the back of his book that he looked up, to 
find a pair of pleading eyes gazing earnestly 
into his* 

For the moment he wondered if he were 
fully awake, for the beautiful child in 

her dainty attire 
looked like some 
vision of the 
senses. The glow- 
ing cheeks and 
sunny curls maae 
a pleasing picture, 
while those tiny 
fingers still rested 
with absolute con- 
fidence on the 
heavy volume. 

"Oh, if you 
please," she said, 
" I want to tell you 
about Herminie." 

The name came 
echoing down a 
vista of long years. 
He had o n c e 
known a " Her- 
nia nie 7T in his early 
youth, a tall, proud 
girl who had 
scorned his love, 
a girl with eyes of 
marvellous depth 
and soft, rippling 
hair. He drew the 
child nearer ; it 
was odd she was 
not afraid of him, a grey-haired stranger, 
with lines of deep study and thought searing 
his brow. 

" Well? '' he queried, touching her curls, 
(( Herminie is very ill," continued Victorine, 
breathlessly, "and they can't get a doctor 
from London to come and make her well, so 
I thought I would ask you to go. Miss 
Maybourn says they lodge in that nasty little 
house at the end of the parade because they 
have no money, and Hermmie hasn't any 
pretty clothes, so I mustn't play with her. 
Original From 


1IF.RMIMK.' " 

7 6 


But I love her very much, though we only 
made friends one morning on the pier. Her 
mother was crying tonjay, and I felt I wanted 
to help her ever so much, and that made me 
think of you, I asked Miss May bourn if 
doctors cost a lot of money, and she said 
*YeSj they are ruinous.' I shouldn't like 
poor Mrs. Tempest to be bothered about 
that, so I thought 1 would tell you I have 
three half - crowns 
left in my money- 
box, Would they 
do instead of Mrs. 
Tempest having to 

A queer expres- 
sion flitted over the 
doctor's face. 

He remembered 
the M Herminie w he 
once knew and loved 
had married some 
years later a young 
and exceedingly 
reckless Captain 
Tempest against the 
wishes of her family. 
After that he heard 
nothing more of her; 
she had sunk into 

"Tel! me the 
name of the house," 
he said j rising 
quickly and letting 
his book fall with 
painful force on Vic- 
torine's toes. She 
winced with the 
pain, but he never 
noticed her. 

"Sea View Lodge," 
she gasped, as he 

snatched up his hat and vanished through 
the open door, 

Victor! ne watched him, her eyes beaming 
with gratitude* She piped out "Thank you/' 
but the room was empty ; only the walls 

The great doctor t arriving at a critical 
moment of Herminie's illness, brought all his 
skill to bear upon her difficult and compli- 
cated case. 

It seemed to Mrs. Tempest little short of 
a miracle that this friend of her youth, now 
so celebrated, should appear as if in direct 
answer to her prayer for Herminie's recovery. 

by Google 

Night and day he attended the suffering 
child till the crisis passed and he pronounced 
her out of danger. 

She was sleeping peacefully, and Mrs. 
Tempest for the first time found herself 
alone in the small drawing-room with Dr. 

" How can I ei'er thank you or show my 
gratitude?'* she said, her voice trembling 

with deep emotion. 

He looked in her 
face, seeing the same 
fathomless eyes and 
pure alabaster skin, 
while the same soft 
ripple pkyed across 
her hair. 

A tender expres- 
sion, a certain quiver- 
ing of her lips, a 
little, pathetic ges- 
ture gave him en- 
couragement to 
answer boldly. 

€i l don't want 
gratitude, Herminte, 
I onlv want your- 

She drew a step 
nearer, and her head 
drooped, such a 
proud, d a i n t i 1 y 
shaped head, look- 
ing like a broken 
lily in a storm. 

A moment later 
the tired spirit 
found its refuge in 
a lover's arms. 

"Tell me/' she 
said at last, 4t who 
was the friend that 
sent you to me- 
who told you I was here ? r 

"A tiny child who stole into my room 
like a fairy. She was staying at the Imperial* 
and left this morning with her parents. She 
used to watch so eagerly for news, though 
she told me she had only met Herminie once. 
After I saw her drive away I inquired for 
letters, and found an hotel envelope awaiting 
me— in it were three half crowns ! f> 

A smile of intense amusement dawned on 
his lips, and a kindly expression smoothed 
the lines which love might yet erase. 

Rut the smile and the tender look just at 
that moment were all for the litile girl in the 
lace frock. 

Original from 

itW CAN I KVF,R TIHANK ¥017?" 

From Behind the Speaker s Chair. 





IN the first year of her reign, 
Queen Victoria, following pre- 
cedent, not only opened Par- 
liament in person, but in due 
time went down to Westminster to prorogue 
it There is some curiosity as to whether 
the King, who, since he came to the Throne, 
has twice read his own Speech in the House 
of Lords, will grace the close of the Session m 
by his presence. That he did not do so last 
year is not conclusive on the point, since the 
death of the Empress of Gerfaany plunged 
the Royal Family into fresh mourning. 

The Sovereign's appearance on the scene 
at the close of a Session would be interest- 
ing, amongst other things, as reviving an 
ancient custom dimly, and not quite accu- 
rately, recalled by the present occupant of 
the Chair in the House of Commons. 
Speaking at the Mansion House early in the 
Session, Mr. Gully stated his belief that 
" the last Speaker who had the opportunity 
of airing his eloquence at the prorogation of 
Parliament was Mr. Manners Sutton, who 
ceased to be Speaker in 1835." As ^ r - 
Sidney I>ee, whose knowledge, like the 
" National Biography" he edited, is encyclo- 
paedic, pointed out, this custom survived to 
a much later date. So recently as the 
Session of 1854, when for the last time Queen 
Victoria went down to prorogue Parliament, 
the Speaker harangued Her Majesty at length 
on the course of the Session. 

In olden times, it being the Speaker's only 
chance of letting himself go, the perform- 
ance was elaborate and extensive. Its 
opportunity was, however, strictly correlative 
with the presence of the Sovereign. No 
Sovereign, no speech. Possibly ruthless 
observance of the privilege may have had 
something to do with the abandonment of 
the Royal visit, and may influence His 
Majesty in contemplation of the propriety of 
resuming the practice. 

In the first two years of her reign, 1837 
and 1838, Queen Victoria, proroguing Par- 
liament, was addressed at length by Speaker 
Abercromby, standing at the Bar in wig and 
gown, escorted by the Mace, accompanied 
by the Chaplain, and inconveniently backed 
up from behind by a mob of members. The 
last Speaker who monopolized enjoyment of 
the privilege was Mr. Shaw - Lefevre, after- 
wards Viscount Eversley, and up to a recent 

time still with us. He it was who, on the 
1 2th of August, 1854, made the last of these 
speeches to Queen Victoria, then in the 
prime of life and the fulness of domestic 
happiness. The oration, preserved in the 
sepulchre of Hansard, dealt largely with the 
Crimean War, then in progress. If Mr. 
Gully were called upon by the presence of 
the King to revive the custom he would, 
by striking coincidence, find a theme at hand 
in a war far exceeding that of the Crimea, 
alike in duration, in loss of blood, and of 

When diaries and letters now 
an anxious in manuscript leap to light a 
time. dramatic story will be told of pro- 
found anxiety in high quarters at 
a period preceding by three months the death 
of Queen Victoria. The actual condition of 
Her Majesty was carefully hidden from the 
public eye. It was only too well known "by 
the Royal Family and its entourage. In 
October, 1900, "the war being over," Lord 
Salisbury and his colleagues decided to rush 
a General Election. Even whilst it was 
taking place the Queen visibly sank. No 
one could say in the morning that collapse 
would not come before sundown. Day by 
day the General Election went forward. The 
difficulty was that should the Queen die 
before it was completed the several elections 
taken up to date would become void. 'Others 
arranged for would not take place. The old 
Parliament, dissolved on the 25th of Sep- 
tember, would have sudden resurrection, 
meeting at Westminster to take the oath to 
the new Sovereign. Dissolution must be 
repeated, and the General Election taken 

When all the boroughs and counties on 
the mainland had polled there still remained 
Shetland and Orkney. This interval of a 
few days was the climax of anxiety. Had 
the demise of the Crown occurred whilst 
Orkney and Shetland were preparing for the 
poll, all the work would have been undone. 
The General Election, as we know, ended 
without a hitch, at least in this respect. But 
the elector throughout the kingdom little 
knew how closely his race with Death was 
watched from Windsor and Downing Street 

Another better known but already almost 
forgotten difficulty arose in the earliest days 
of the still young Parliament. By an Act of 


- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l 1 1 ■_■ 1 1 1 


7 8 


William II L it was de- 
creed that dissolution 

should within the period 

of six months follow 

demise of the Crown. 

In 1867 this incon- 
venient and quite un- 
necessary injunction was 

abolished. In the same 

Session separate Kills 

were passed reforming 

the law in this respect 

in Scotland and Ireland. 

The sapient drafters 

of the Bill relating to 

England, hearing in 

mind this fact, intro- 
duced a clause in the 

English Act providing 

that it "shall nut 

extend to Scotland or 

to Ireland." On the 

face of it the Act of 

1867 enforced a new 

General Election in 

Scotland and Ireland 

before July, 1901, that being the limit of the 

six months following the death of Queen 

Victoria, The matter was seriously argued, 

was indeed submit ted for the opinion of the 

law Officers of the Crown. This was given on 

the common-sense lines that 

the three several Acts should 

be construed together. 
Thus it came to pass that 

the English and Scotch Acts 

were operative in their 

respective countries, the 

restrictive clause in the 

English Act being ignored. 

The incident is curiously 

instructive as illustrating the 

slips occasionally made in 

drafting Acts of Parliament, 

and the readiness with 

which they are overlooked 

in both Houses; 

It is a saddening 

A narrow reflection that 
escape* within the me- 
mory of the pre- 
sent generation the nearest 

approach to bad language 

spoken in the House of 

Lords should have come 

from the Lord Chancellor. 

The event befell on one of 

the closing nights of last 

Session, The subject under 



discussion was the Royal 
Declaration Bill, which 
Lord Rosebery attacked 
in a speech of unusual 
vigour. It was the out- 
come of the work of a 
committee over which 
the Lord Chancellor pre- 
sided. Lord Rosebery, 
infer alia^ charged the 
committee with being 
unduly sensitive to 

" I am not at all sensi- 
tive to the noble earl's 
observations," said the 
Lord Chancellor, "and 
I do not believe there is 
one member of the com- 
mittee who cares a w 

Happily the Lord 
Chancellor stopped, 
almost as he breathed 
the objectionable word, 
involuntarily formed on 
the lips of noble lords 
listening. A burst of laughter giving him 
pause, he continued: "Well, I do not want 
to use disagreeable expressions, and I will say 
there is no member who cares for the noble 
earl's criticisms/ 1 This was felt to be rather 
a weak conclusion compared 
with what the sentence 
earlier promised. It was at 
least more Parliamentary. 
The Lord Chan- 
cellor was in 
lively form at 
this sitting. Lord Rose- 
bery's argument was that 
the form of declaration 
recommended by the Bill 
was so phrased that anyone 
might take it " Po you 
suppose/' he said, " that 
Charles II. would not have 
made- this declaration with 
a ready voice and an easy 
conscience? And vet 
Charles I L," he added, with 
tremendous thump on the 
table sufficient in force to 
have taken off the head of 
Charles L, "died in com- 
munion with the Church of 

Noble lords looked on 
with raised eyebrows and 




by Google 

Original from 




slightly curled lips* This sort of thing was 
all very well in the House of Commons. 
They had heard of -some had seen— Mr. 
Gladstone standing at the table whacking the 
brass-bound box or beating the palm of his 
left hand with his right, with noise that 
almost drowned his ordered speech. But to 
have a belted earl thumping the table in the 
House of Ix>rds was quite a new thing. It 
came nearer to presage of abolition of the 
institution than anything else uttered at 
Northampton or elsewhere, The Lord 
Chancellor, in a concluding sentence of his 
speech, neatly phrased reproach of this 
3agrant departure from House of lords' form. 

lk I feel," he said, "as 
strongly on this matter as 
does the noble earl, though 
I admit I have no piece of 
furniture within my reach 
to enable me by strength of 
muscle to supply lack of 

It was assumed 

and asserted at 

the time that 

Mr, Dillon beat 
the record when early this 
Session he gave the lie direct 
co Mr. Chamberlain, That 
is not the case. The record 
vas established by the late 
Ih\ Tanner, though to give 
\[r. Dillon his due he 
freshened it up by the em- 
roidety of an adjective. It 
was cowards the end of the 
Session of 1895 that Dr. 
Tanner broke out. From 
the opening of the sitting 
he had been in ominous 
state of unrest According 
:ohU habit it developed the 
form of extreme desire that other members 
should observe orderly conduct. Once, Mr. 
Ha I four venturing to smile at some bombast 
on the part cf Mr, John Redmond, Dr. 
i inner rose and protested that he " felt 
bound to call attention to the indecorous 
:*haviour of the gentleman who is Leader 
of the House-" I-ater, Mr. Balfour, dealing 
with the state of public business, made the 
obrious remark that at the period of the 
session reached it was waste of time for 
private members to brins* in new Bills. To 
[Jr. Tanners active logical mind this irresis- 
tibly suggested affairs in the far East, 

"Does the right hon. gentleman/ 1 he 
shouted, sternly regarding Mr. Balfour, 

Digitized by GoOgJC 

JCPASI jt]I>As! H 

" really intend to try and prevent the murder 
of any more missionaries in China?" 

After this, anything might be expected, 
and it was not long in coming. In debate 
on the Address — the first Session of the new 
Parliament opened, of all dates, on the T2th 
of August — Mr. Harrington observed that 
the late Government had run away from 
Home Rule. 

"That's a lie ! " shouted Dr. Tanner. 
The Speaker was up in a minute, calling 
upon him to withdraw the offensive word and 

lt No, no," said the Doctor, remaining 
seated and still burning with desire that 

everything should 
be done in order, 
" I cannot get up, 
you know, so long 
as vou are on your 

That was indis- 
putable, it being a 
serious breach of 
order for a member 
to rise whilst the 
Speaker is upstanding. 
Without more ado Dr. 
Tanner was named. In 
the absence of Mr, Balfour, 
Mr. ( hamberlain moved the 
resolution of suspension. 
The Doctor refusing to 
withdraw, the Serjeant-at- 
Arms was bidden to remove 
him. As he approached, the 
apostle of order rose and 
walked down the gangway. 
At sight of Mr. Chamberlain 
seated on the Treasury 
r*^Y Bench a storm of fury shook 
him. Drawing himself up to 
full height, stretching forth 
his arm as if levelling a pistol at the head of 
the Colonial Secretary, he yelled, £i Judas' 
Judas I Judas ! " and so went forth. 

This was his last prominent appearance on 
the Parliamentary stage. 

What is familiarly known in 
the House of Commons as the 
Twelve o'Clock Rule is commonly 
regarded as a modern invention. 
But there is nothing new under 
the sun, and this particular product is at 
least two and a half centuries old. In the 
Journals of the House there will be found, 
under date 1645* the following Standing 
Order : " That no new motion of any busi- 
ness whatsoever shall be made after twelve 
Original from 







o'clock, and that Mr. Speaker should not 
hear any new motion after twelve o'clock. 1 ' 
Two years later, in order to make the matter 
more clear, it was ordered that "as soon as 
the clock strikes twelve the House shall rise." 
There is, of course, this important differ 

^<r^j^~ V*y" 

is tiik nui-!--J r iEj..ii. 

ence between the two conditions of things. 
Whilst with us the Twelve o'Clock Rule means 
midnight, in the seventeenth century it struck 
at noon. 

Members who, in debate on the new Pro- 
cedure Rules, grumbled at the prospect of 
meeting as early as two in the afternoon will 
be pleased to be reminded that in the time 
of James I. eight o'clock in the morning was 
the hour at which the Speaker took the 
Chair Once at least in the spacious times of 
Queen Elizabeth they met at 6 a.m. That 
was a special occasion, when, having obtained 
permission of Her Majesty to attend at eight, 
the Commons held a preliminary meeting "to 
treat on what shall be delivered touching the 
reasons of their proceedings," In 1614 the 
Mouse met at 7 a.m., an order that remained 
in force for twenty-eight years. But the wind 
was tempered to the shorn Iamb, inasmuch 
as the Stuart Kings were accustomed to 
interpose prolonged recesses in the sittings 
of their Parliaments, 

Last Session 6,448 questions 

A PRIME appeared on the paper, being 

HULL. raised to a minimum of the round 

jo,ooo by supplementary in- 
quiries. For the most part these were of the 
style and character of that delightful one put 
on a ["ebruary afternoon this year by Mr + 
Field, addressed to the Chief Secretary for 
Ireland. Mr. Wyndham having replied to 

by {j 



the question on the paper, the member for 
St. Patrick's Division of Dublin rose in all 
the majesty of a spotless shirt - front and 
protuberant cuffs. 

" Mr. Speaker, sir/' he said, in tragic 

tones, "arising out of that answer, I wish to 

say I did not hear what 

the right hon. gentleman 

said + " J 

For a bull that is about 
as perfect an animal as is 
bred out of Ireland. It is 
one of the rules feebly 
governing the putting of 
questions that, when a reply 
has been given by a 
Minister, further interro- 
gation is permissible only 
in direct connection with 
the answer. Whenever an 
Irish member wants to put 
a supplementary question — 
and he invariably does—he 
prefaces it with a formula 
li arising out of that answer/* 
Hence Mr, Field's stum- 
In the earliest days of his reign 
the king's King Edward VIL introduced a 
speech, new order of things in connec- 
tion with the Speech from the 
Throne at the opening of the Session. 
During the reign of Queen Victoria it was 
the practice not only to furnish copies of the 
document to the leaders of the Opposition 
in both Houses for the information of their 
colleagues, but to communicate a full precis 
to the newspapers. By order of the King, 
whilst tile Leaders of the Opposition were 
last Session and this provided with a copy of 
the Speech, which they read before dinner 
to their guests, the newspapers were left to 
their own devices in the effort to forecast the 

This is even a wider departure from 
the practice that obtained in the days of 
George IV. No secret was then made about 
the Speech, copies being circulated among 
members some days before the Session 
opened. Canning mentions, in a passage 
quoted by Mr. Walpole, a curious practice 
that obtained in his day. "It was the 
custom," he said, " the night before the 
commencement of a Session to read to such 
members as might think proper to assemble 
to hear it, at a place called the Cockpit, the 
Speech with which the King's Ministers 
had advised His Majesty to open Session." 
Cockpit and custom have both disappeared. 

Original from 



The original Cockpit was part of the build- 
ing of ancient Whitehall, and came in course 
of time to be devoted to the business and 
convenience of the Treasury. 

In Parliamentary records the 
"adequate" longest drawn out apology made 
apology, by a member of the House of 
Commons 1 find in contem- 
porary records of more than sixty years ago. 
The offender was Mr. Kearsley t member for 
Wigan. He seems to have been, in personal 
appearance as in other respects, a character. 
He is described as having 
M a little, round* pug-looking 
face, with an ample harvest 
of black, bushy hair, with 
whiskers to match ; a little, 
thick -set man with an in- 
clination to corpulence,' 1 
Notice is taken of u an 
expressive look of self-com- 
placency irradiating his 
gl o bu larly -f o r m ed , country- 
complexioned countenance, 
while his small, bright eyes 
ever peered triumphantly 
over his little cocked - up 

In the Session of 1836, 
the House being in Com- 
mittee on the Stamp Duty 
and Excise, Mr, Kearsley, 
following Mr. Roebuck, 
appealing directly to Lord 
John Russell, asked u with 
what pleasure he had lis- 
tened to the disgusting 
speech of the honourable 
and learned member for 
Bath/ 1 The Chairman of 
Committees, Mr. Bernal (known to later Par- 
liaments as Bernal Osborne), ruled the expres- 
sion out of order and called for its withdrawal 

"Sir/* said Mr. Kearsley, "a more dis- 
gusting speech I never heard," 

Thereupon, amid shouts of "Order ! * he 
left his seat, and with a profound bow to the 
Chair, and a gracious wave of farewell with 
his right hand, made for the door* A crowd 
standing there hloeked his way and Mr. 
Kearsley returned to his sent. Mr, Paul 
Methuen, grandfather of our wounded Lord 
Mtthuen, who sat through several Parlia- 
ments as member for Wiltshire, insisted upon 
retraction of the offensive word and apology. 
Mr. Kearsley was on his legs again before 
the Chairman could say a word, and cried 
aloud, "Paul, Paul, why persecutes! thou 



Vp|..*iir*— n 

by Google 

me? " In the end, after much pressure, Mr. 
Kearsley withdrew the word but did not 

In this same Parliament sat Mr. 
Brotherton, member for Salford, 
who distinguished himself in a 
more snne manner, In boyhood 
a factory hand, he in course of time ran a 
factory of his own, which made him one of 
the richest of Manchester men. His pre- 
dominant idea in connection with Parlia- 
mentary life was to get members off to bed 
by half- past twelve. Session 
after Session he was in his 
place, and on the hand of 
the clock passing the half- 
hour after midnight he rose 
and moved the adjourn 
merit If a big debate were 
in progress he refrained 
from interference. His con- 
viction was that no new 
business should be taken 
after half-past twelve, 
wherein he was nearly half 
a century before his time. 

Old members familiar 
with the House in the 
seven ties , when, if the ad 
journment took place before 
two o'clock in the morning, 
it was counted a sort of 
half- holiday, will recall the 
enormous relief the adop- 
tion of Mr. Brotherton's 
resolution brought with it. 
The House having with 
immense difficulty been 
brought to pass a rule 
forbidding the undertaking 
of fresh business after half - past twelve 
soon moved the hand of the clock back to 
midnight, and finally reached the existing 
beneficent rule that peremptorily, even to 
the shutting -up of a member on his legs, 
closes debate at that hour. So absolutely 
has fashion changed within the memory of 
many seated in the present House that, 
whereas thirteen years ago the adjournment 
rarely took place before 1 ^m, members 
to-day resent extension of a sitting even five 
minutes beyond midnight. It frequently 
happens that when the Twelve o'Clock Rule 
has been solemnly suspended, giving mem- 
bers leave to sit till any hour of the morning 
duty please, the pending division has taken 
place immediately after midnight, and by 
half- past twelve the lights were out. 

Original from 

The Ipswich Express. 

By G. H. Page. 

OULHX'T you find me a 
carriage with a lady in 
it ? " said Lily Free&ton, a 
little doubtfully, as the porter 
opened the door of a first- 
class carriage which was 
quite empty, and began to pack her dressing- 
bag and roll of rugs into the rack. 

"Well, miss," said he, apologetically, 
u though there are a good many people going 
by this train, there are not many going first- 
class. But very likely some may come yet, 
for there's still twenty minutes before you're 
off, and I'll look out for any ladies, and if 1 
can manage it I'll put them in here." 

He spoke with an eye to his tip, and the 
grateful Lily at once gave him a shilling. 
Then he went off and forgot all about her 
in the doing of other jobs, and the carriage 
remained empty. 

In a way Lily found it pleasant to be alone, 
and could she have felt certain of remaining 
alone during the whole two hours of her 
journey she would have been quite happy. 
But it was the uncertainty, the possibility of 
having to travel with some objectionable 
companion, which gave her a slight sense of 

She chose her seat in the corner facing the 
engine, but she did not 
sit down at once. She 
stood instead at the 0)>en 
door, watching the crowd 
hurrying about the plat- 
form. There were plenty 
of people, as the portt-r 
had said, but all, obvi- 
ously, were going second 
or third class. There 
were mothers with large 
families of children, there 
were schoolboys and 
young people, there was 
a group of Salvation 
lasses, a clergyman, and 
a much flustered old lady, 
carrying a bird - cage in 
one hand and a band 
box in the other. Her 
perturbation arose from 
the fact that she had 
not seen her trunk put 
into the luggage- van with 
her own eyes, and it was 

by GoO^lc 

in vain that an irascible porter insisted thai 
he, at least, knew he had done so with hu 
own hands. The old lady was neither to be 
soothed nor to be intimidated. She appealed 
volubly to the station master, who happened 
to be standing at hand. 

Lily could see her action, could see her 
gesticulation, while not hearing what she said 
And the girl couldn't help smiling at the way 
in which the old lady waved the band-box and 
the bird-cage about, couldn't help wondering 
how the bird, beneath the green -baize cover, 
was enjoying his tempestuous experiences. 
Finally, it seemed to Lily that the station 
master invited the old lady to accompany 
him to the luggage-van and verify the where- 
abouts of the box herself, for he walked off 
towards the rear of the train and the old 
lady trotted after him. 

By this time most of the other passengers 
had taken their places and the plaLforrn was 
nearly empty. Only a nice-looking young 
man in a grey summer suit remained, and he 
kept looking now at his watch and now 
through each of the station entrances as he 
sauntered by them, as if he were awaiting 
the arrival of a friend. 

** No, she won't come," said Lily to herself, 
as she watched him. " I'm afraid she was so 
long doing her hair- and 
of course she wanted to 
do it extra well to day 
that she missed the train. 
You will have to go with- 
out her or to wait for the 
next. But you look much 
too nice to go without 
her. Lm sure youll wait 
for the next/* 

A guard carrying a 
green flag came along 
banging ■ to the carriage- 
doors, and Lily sat down 
in her corner, satisfied at 
last that she was going to 
make the journey alone ; 
for after leaving Liverpool 
Street the train did not 
stop again until it reached 

She did not anticipate 
being dull. First of all, 
the mere sensation of 
being carried along at 

Original from 



the rate of sixty miles an hour was an 
amusement to her \ then she liked look- 
ing oat of the window at the hamlets and 
country houses flying past her and imagining 
little stories about the people who lived in 
them ; and finally, when she should tire of 
this, she had plenty of magazines and papers 
with which to beguile the time. 

She had also the letter home to her aunt 
which she had begun in the train coming up 

matter, for I don't feel a bit lonely 01 

At that instant the door was snatched 
open, a bag was flung in, and a tall, blacks 
bearded man, with a big cigar in his mouth, 
dashed in after it. He stumbled over Lily's 
feet without a word of apology, shut the 
door behind him with a furious slam, and 
precipitated himself into the farthest opposite 
comer of the carriage. Lily looked at him 


from Tun bridge, and she thought she would 
first go on with that. So she took her bag 
down from the rack, found her little writing- 
pad and pencil, and putting the point of the 
htter between her pretty lips to darken it 
went on with the narrative of her travel ad- 
ventures where she had broken off: — 

" I got across London from Charing Cross 
to Liverpool Street all right, and the cabman 
was very nice; and when I asked him ' How 
much?' he said : * Well, since it's you, miss, 
well say five shillings,' which was very kind 
of him, wasn't it? and not a bit extortionate, 
ns Jack said he would be, for it was really 
an immense way here, and through such 
crowded, horrid streets that it must have 
been most difficult to drive. Now I am in 
the Ipswich train in a carriage all to myself, 
for I couldn't find any other ladies to travel 
with, as you wished; but it doesn't really 

by K: 



in amazement and dismay* Really this was 
worse than anything she could have possibly 
foreseen. It was simply impossible for her to 
travel in a carriage with a man who smoked, 
for the smell of smoke always made her ill, 
always gave her a bad headache* She could 
not sit ten minutes in her cousin Jack's 
smoking room without the atmosphere 
affecting her. To be shut up for two hours 
in the company of that big cigar was 
absolutely out of the question. Yet what 
was she to do ? Was it possible for her to 
change carriages? She gave a despairing 
glance at her various possessions scattered 
over the seats, at her heavy dressing-bag, at 
her big bundle of wraps and ru.^s up in the 
rack opposite her, and which she could noi 
even lift down herself. No, it was impossible 
that she could change carriages in time, and 
yet what on earth was she to do ? 

Original from 

8 4 


She could think of nothing better than an 
appeal to the stranger's good feeling, since 
he, at least, could get into another carriage 
without any difficulty. And, no doubt, he 
had made a mistake in entering this carriage 
instead of the next one. She remembered 
now to have noticed that the next compart- 
ment was a smoking - compartment, and 
probably in his hurry he had mistaken the 

He looked a gentleman, Lily decided, 
although she immediately discovered thnt he 
was a very odd-looking man, too : while cer- 
tainly his mode of entrance had not been 
over -courteous. Still, she felt perfectly sure 
that he would be willing to move himself 
rather than put her to such inconvenience 
and discomfort. 

" Pardon me," she said, with timid courage, 

his upper lip drew back in an ugly way, 
reminding her of some ill-tempered dog* 

11 You object to me smoking ? TJ he asked, 
speaking with a strong foreign accent, in a 
hard, curious, unmodulated voice. 

"Well — yes, I do, JJ said Lily, bravely. 
"It makes me feel ill, and that is why I 
came into this carriage, which is not a 
smoking-carriage, But there is a smoking- 
com part men t on that side, next door* You 
will have time to change, if you are quick. 
Please, please, be quick, and change ■ " 

But the stranger merely put back his cigar 
between his teeth, and continued to turn on 
her a fierce and flickering gaze. 

"You object to me smoking?" he re- 
pcated, just as before. "You make me 
observations ? You tell me go into annzzer 
carriage ? Now, look he -a ire/ 1 


"but I think you have made a mistake? 
This is not a smoking carriage/* 

There was something really extremely odd 
in the appearance of this foreign looking 
man, who might be French, who might be 
Italian ; who wore a soft hat, a voluminous 
" bat's- wing " cape, and a sparse, stubhly 
black beard. There was something odd and 
repellent, too, in the damp white skin, the 
thick black eyebrows, the black, flickering, 
staring eyes, which were now fixed upon her t 
and which filled her with nervous trepidations. 

He took his cigar from his mouth when 
she had begun to speak, and one corner of 

by Google 

He slipped a hand into a pocket beneath 
liis cloak and produced a tiny revolver, which 
he laid beside him on the arm of the seat, 
keeping his hand upon it, 

(1 1 allow no one in ze world to interfere 
wiz me, to make me remnrks> and I carry 
this about wiz me," he pointed the weapon 
straight at Lily's face, "to give a lesson to 
those peoples who do not let me alone/* 

At first Lily had gone crimson with 
surprise at being spoken to in such a manner. 
Never in the world had arty man answered 
her with such rudeness before. But when he 
produced the pistol, then she had felt the warm 
Original from 



8 = 

blood rush back from her beating head to her 
heart. She grew pale, she grew cold, she 
grew paler still. For suddenly she under- 
stood the awful truth. The man was mad ! 
She was shut up alone in a carriage with a 
madman ! 

And at the very instant that she realized 
the full horror of the situation the train 
began to move slowly and smoothly out of 
the station. 

Terror kept her rigid as a figure of stone, 
and it was well for her that it was so. For 
though the madman's eye was unsteady, 
though it flickered the whole time, still he 
never removed it from her ; he kept his hand 
always on the handle of the little pistol by 
his side. 

She understood, intuitively, that were she 
to scream, were she to open the door, were 
she to try to pull the cord of communication 
with the guard — were she, in "fact, to make 
any attempt to obtain help, he would fire at 
once. The desire for \iolence was clearly 
expressed in his glance. 

And probably, even although she sat per- 
fectly quiet, he would kill her all the same. 
And she looked at the glittering muzzle of 
the tiny weapon, and wondered how soon 
her death-blow would spring out from it. 
Heavens ! It was too horrible, too impos- 
sible, that she, Lily Freeston, so young and so 
happy, with so many people who were fond 
of her, with Aunt Mary thinking about her 
probably at that very moment, with her 
friend Maggie Parker expecting her at 
Ipswich, with so many pretty frocks in her 
trunk to be worn during her visit, that she 
should find herself in imminent peril of her 
life, shut up alone in a railway carriage with 
a madman. 

It was like some horrible nightmare, and 
yet it was worse than any nightmare she had 
ever suffered from, for it was actual fact, it 
was actually true. 

What could she do ? 

The advertisements on the walls of the 
station began to slide past her, those adver- 
tisements of soap, of blacking, of beer, which 
she knew so well, which she had read 
hundreds of times in hundreds of idle, 
empty moments, and amidst all the con- 
fused, troubled, agonized thoughts which 
seemed to struggle and shout together 
in her brain came the ridiculous little 
regret that this was the last time she 
would ever read, these familiar advertise- 
ments, ever be bored by their monotonous 
reiterations. For in another minute she 
would be carried away from all aid, from 

by K: 



all human proximity, out into the open 
country, alone with this madman, and what- 
ever then happened her cries would be lost 
in the noise of the rushing train, which would 
not again stop until it reached Ipswich. 

Her fingers trembled on the pencil which 
she still held poised over her unfinished 
letter, and suddenly an inspiration came to 
her— a Heaven-sent inspiration which thrilled 
her with a last faint hope of help, which com- 
forted her with the idea of, at least, making 
her desperate circumstances known to some 

She carried this idea out with a coolness 
and courage which were, Heaven-sent too. 

All this while, and it appears to be a 
certain while in the reading, although in point 
of time it passed in a very few seconds, 
she had her eyes raised to the madman's, 
who watched her interrogatively, expecting 
an answer to his information. Now she 
gave one. 

"Very well," she said, gently, and she was 
astonished to detect no alteration in her 
voice, it sounded just as usual. " You shall 
go on smoking and I will go on with my 
letter." . 

Now the writing-pad consisted of detach- 
able sheets, which could be turned back as 
each page was finished and all held to- 
gether, or any separate page could be easily 
pulled out. Lily turned a page now, and 
wrote on the next one : " Pray help me, I 
am so frightened " (an unexpected termina- 
tion this to the gay courage of her unfinished 
sentence to her aunt), and then added 
another couple of words, any words, non- 
sense words, and promptly scratched them 
through, as if she had made a mistake. 
Immediately, with a well -assumed little 
frown of vexation, she tore out the page and 
crumpled it up in her hand. 

Now she rose with an air of indifference 
and let her glance fall out of the window. 
There were the long boards of the platform 
slipping by her, running away to converge in 
a single point in the distance ; there was a 
porter — the very porter to whom she had 
given the shilling — rolling and rattling milk- 
cans from one part of the station to the 
other ; there stood the young man in grey, 
still waiting, and talking now with the station- 
master. Everything was calm, placid, ordi- 
nary ; everyone was absolutely indifferent to 
her peril. And yet she was being carried 
away from all security, from all calmness, to 
a horrible uncertainty, most likely to a violent 

The young man in grey happened to raise 

Original from 




his eyes to hers, although he was a long way 
from her, far down the moving platform. 

With apparent carelessness she threw the 
little ball of paper out and sat down again 
to write. But she had thrown it with a 
definite aim, she had seen it roll to the feet 
of the two men, she had seen the young man 
pick it up* He was smoothing it out in his 
fingers when the station passed out of 

So far her scheme had worked success- 
fully. But what result would it have? Could 
it have any result? What would the young 
man do? What would the station-master 
do? Was it possible for them to do any- 
thing at all? They would probably think it 
some silly girl's joke. 

Yet even if they believed her to be in need 
of help, what could they do ? 

And she sat pretending to continue her 
letter, while asking herself with anguish 
whether there were really any means of over- 
diking an express train, of stopping her? 
Perhaps they would telegraph on to the next 
station and have her stopped by signal, but 
perhaps the next station was ever so far o(T, 
and before they reached it she might be 
already dead. 

An unconquerable fascination made her 
look up, to see the man in the corner watch- 
ing her with a cruel malignancy while his 

by Oc 


fingers caressed the handle of the revolver ; 
and she bent again over her writing-pad, on 
which she traced mechanically nonsense 
words, while she said to herself: "Now he 
will fire. Before I get to the end of the ne*t 
line he will fire. How unhappy poor auntie 
will be when she hears the news ! I suppose 
she will read of it in to-morrow's paper" 
And the girl felt her eyes fill with tears as 
she imagined her Aunt Mary*s grief. 

A shadow fell across the paper. The 
window was suddenly darkened, Someone 
was standing outside the carriage on the foot- 
board looking in over the door 

It was the young man in grey, and when 
Lily recognised his fair, strong, and handsome 
English face, so much passionate relief and 
gratitude welled up into her wet blue eyes 
that he instantly saw he had done right in 
obeying the impulse which told him to spring 
upon the flying train. He had thrust Lilys 
paper into the hands of the station-master, 
had run along the platform, and leaped upon 
the footboard of one of the rear carriages as 
it whirled past him. The rest had been a 
mere matter of agility and nerve. Now, 
another glance into the carriage revealed to 
him the state of the case. 

He turned the handle, stepped up, and sat 
down opposite the young girl. 

11 Well, I very nearly missed the train this 

Original from 



time ! " said he, with courteous carelessness. 
lt Hadn't you given me up? 5 * 

Lily gave a little gasp, and then under 
stood he was assuming the role of brother or 
friend to give himself the right of protecting 

li Yes," she told him. " I had given up 

sion, an express coming from the other 
direction seemed one long line of glittering 
windows, one long, continuous roar. 

Had the young man in grey seen the 
pistol ? Lily could not he sure, for he gave 
no answering sign, and his manner was 
exceedingly bright and irrelevant 


hope altogether," and there was real truth in 
the words. 

Watching his face intently, she read his 

""Will you not come and sit over here? 3 ' 
she asked him, and began clearing her tilings 
away from the place t>eside her. 

He changed places in the most natural 
way possible, and appeared to pay no atten- 
tion at all to the traveller in the far corner. 
But Lily knew that the move had been made 
for the very purpose of observing him, and 
by a little sign she indicated to the young 
man in grey the pistol lying under the 
French man's hand, and now half hidden by 
a fold of his cloak. 

The man was still smoking, while he stared 
in front of him with an assumed air of mental 
preoccupation, although every now and then 
3 glint from his flickering eye fell upon his 
companions in the carriage* 

The train every moment was increasing in 
speed. The carriage swayed and rattled, the 
telegraph-posts leaped past in quick succes- 

by Google 

'* By Jove, that was a very close thing," 
said he. "And if I hadn't come by this 
train I don't think the girls would ever have 
forgiven me. They make such a point of it 
But now I want you," he continued, u to 
keep a look-out on the opposite window. 
We are going to pass directly a very extra- 
ordinary sight. We are going to pass a 
house built without any front to it, by a man 
who is consumptive, and hopes to cure 
himself on the open-air system. It looks 
precisely like a dolls' house with the dour 
open. You can see into all the rooms. 
There! There it is I Do you see it?" he 
cried eageily, getting up to point it out, and 
Lily jumped up and looked with all her eyes, 
and the Frenchman half rose and looked too. 

Was there such a house as the young man 
described? Lily could not tell, for the train 
had reached full speed, and the whole country 
side wheeled and curved and spun into view, 
and reeled away again behind them, before she 
had time to detect any one particular thing 
But in the same instant that her bewildered 

Original from 



eyes searched vainly for this house, the young 
man in grey had sprung across the carriage, 
had stooped down and seized the pistol, and 
had flung it far out of the window over the 
Frenchman's head 

or were trodden under foot. And still the 
men wrestled, and still the train rushed for- 
ward, and Lily, very pale and tremulous, 
waited for the end. But she never felt one 
moment's doubt of the strength or capacity 


l( Oh, take care !" cried Lily, for she saw 
him turn in a paroxysm of fury upon the 
young man in grey, and ihe next moment the 
two were locked in a fierce struggle on the 
carnage floor, 

The train shrieked, and rattled, and 
hanged, the two men wrestled with clenched 
teeth one to overpower the other, and Lily, 
standing as far out of the way as she could, 
pressed back her cries with trembling little 

Everything in the carriage was overset ; 
newspapers, books, and papers were scattered 
on the floor. The maniac clutching hold of 
the bar of the net-rack to prevent his 
opponent from throwing him brought the 
whole affair down. Down with it came his 
own bag, insecurely fastened and hurriedly 
packed* Its mouth opened and it vomited 
forth a strange flood of heterogeneous con- 
tents : pomatum, socks, brushes, soap t medi- 
cine bottles full and empty, china dogs and 
shepherdesses looking like a hasty collection 
from a mantelpiece or chiffbnnicr, a Urge 
piece of bread, and quantities of fine cigars, 
which relied into every corner of the carriage 

by Google 

of the young man in grey. Nor, embarrassed 
as the maniac was by the heavy hanging 
cloak, was there ever any chance of his doing 

14 If I could but manage to tie his legs," 
said the young man, who had now got him 
pinioned in a comer by the arms, '* I think 
it would settle him," and he looked about 
him Tor some sort of ligature. ( * Haven't you 
got some rugs? Then take one of the straps. 
Now, try to pass it round his ankles here. 
Yes ! Now once more, and pull tight. 
Tighter still ! There, that's right. (Jive me 
the other strap, and well put it round his 
arms— so." 

The man lay on the floor of the carriage 
securely bound. He by quiet and silent, 
only his eyes gave sign of life. And with 
these eyes still burning with fury and madness 
he followed the movements of the young 

Lily was filled with pity for him. 

41 Poor creature," she said, il how terrible ! 
How wretched he looks ! Do you think him 
in pain? Are those straps hurting him, 
perhaps? Do put this cushion under his 

Original from 



head. But surely we are slowing down ? 
We are going to stop." 

And the train really was drawing up at an 
unimportant little station, where perhaps no 
express train had ever stopped before, and 
the officials of this station came running 
along the footboard even before she had 
stopped, looking into all the carriages. And 
there was a great commotion when they came 
to Lily's carriage, which looked almost as if 
it had been wrecked, and there were hurried 
questions and explanations, and much com- 
miseration for the young lady. 

But the train was bound to reach Ipswich 
at a fixed hour. There could be no delay- 
ing. Two guards were put into the carriage 
to take care of the unfortunate lunatic, and 
Lily's property was collected and carried by 
willing hands to another compartment. In 
less than five minutes the train was off again, 
and Lily and the young man in grey, sitting 
facing one another, were once more rushing 
through the green open country. But what a 
difference there was in the girl's feelings ! How 
calm, how relieved, how happy she felt now ! 

" You must have had an awful moment 
when you first realized he was mad," said the 
young man. 

14 Oh, I felt as though my hair were going 
grey. Has it gone grey, perhaps ? " she 
asked, anxiously. " For I have "heard of 
such things happening." 

" No ; it's yellow — the colour of corn in 
the sun," said the young man, gravely. 

" I'm so glad," exclaimed Lily, joyfully, 
"for I am going to a dance to-night, and it 
would have been horrid to have looked in 
the glass and found I had grey hair." 

" I, too, to-night, am going to a dance," 
said the young man, "and I was to have 
escorted some ladies down from town who 
were going to it too ; but as they did not 
turn up at the station I was going to wait for 
the next train, which starts twenty minutes 
later, as I supposed they had missed the 
express, when your message reached me." 

" What made you see at once that, it was 
serious ? I was so afraid it might be thought 
just a joke." 

"Oh, I had noticed you on the station 
long before, and I knew you were not the 
sort of girl to play that kind of joke," said the 
young man, gravely, and Lily blushed with a 
certain pleasure at his words. 

"Poor auntie will be so dreadfully upset 
when she hears of my adventures. She was 
to have come with me, but I left her in bed 
this morning with neuralgia. She hated my 
having to travel alone ; although, of course, 

VoL jokiv.— t2* 

we never could have imagined anything so 
dreadful as this." 

" Have you friends to meet you at 
Ipswich?" asked the young man. 

"Oh, yes, the Parkers will meet me. Maggie 
Parker is my greatest friend. And it is at their 
house that the dance is to be to-night." 

" So you know the Parkers ? That's splen- 
did ! For I, too, know them very well. And I, 
too, am going down expressly for that dance. 
It's jolly to think I shall see you again." 

The delightful and amazing turn things 
were taking gave a new lustre to Lily's blue 
eyes and began to bring back some colour 
to her pale face. And while she sat in a 
kind of joy dream, glancing every now and 
then shyly at the handsome, open, sunburnt 
face of the young man in grey, Ipswich was 
reached and her attention was turned to a 
group of young people on the platform await- 
ing the arrival of the train. 

" Oh, there are the Parkers ! " cried Lily. 
" How nice ! There are Maggie, and Ethel, 
and Joe." 

And " Lily, dearest ! " cried a girl, running 
forward, as she and the young man in grey 
got out of the train, " there you are ! And 
where is Mrs. Walters? Neuralgia? Oh, 
I'm so sorry ! And mother will, be dis- 
appointed. But Frank has managed, I see, 
to find you out after all. Very clever of 
him, since we told him to look out for two 
ladies, one of whom would have white curls. 
How did you manage, Frank, to recognise 
Lily Freeston all by herself?" 

Lily stared in helpless bewilderment, for the 
young man in grey was kissing the Parker 
girls all round in the most brotherly fashion. 

" But don't you know it's Frank ? " cried 
Maggie Parker, astonished in her turn. 
" You must have often heard us speak of 
Frank, our sailor brother, and he has run up 
from Portsmouth on purpose to come to our 
dance. Do you mean to say you have 
travelled all the way from London together 
and still require to be introduced ?" ' 

" Oh, we have a great deal to tell you," 
said Lieutenant Parker, " but I suggest that 
we don't tell it here or now. Miss Freeston 
is looking pale and tired. Let us take her 
home and restore her with some tea. After 
tea you shall hear the whole exciting story." 

Lily was very grateful for the suggestion. 
For now that the danger was over and the 
reaction had set in, she was really feeling 
strangely tired and weak. And yet in her 
heart the sun was shining too, for she knew 
that for herself another and an exquisite story 
had begun. 


Dutch Humorous Artists. 

By Arthur Lord, 

[Attention is drawn to the fact that the present series of articles on ilie Humorous Ariisis of the World 
have alreiuly (Wit with L-'ngli&h ariisls in January, 1902; with those of (ienuntiy in April, 1901 ; uiih 
those of France in December, igoi \ with those of America in March, April, and May, 1902 j and wilh 

those of Australasia in June, 1902.] 

jvKT us say at once 

\m Bfc£»1 that an artist re- 
ceives little prac- 
tical encourage- 
ment in Holland. 

He gets so little money lor 

his work, and so little work 

for his money, that there is 

but small stimulus for him 

to devote his whole energy 

to art. It is true, moreover, 

that black-and-white artists 

who are capable of doing 

comic work of first - class 

quality find a like lack of 

encouragement for their 

efforts ; and if the humorous 

artists are few and far be- 
tween in the Netherlands, 

and the comic papers fewer, 

it is because there is little money in circulation 

in Holland and but a small public to buy. 

Under these somewhat depressing con- 
ditions there is yet a small band uf labourers 

in the vineyard, and if, in opposition to these 

Prom a Photo- 

conditious, they have suc- 
ceeded in turning out many 
humorous drawings which 
render the few existing 
comic papers attractive to 
l heir countrymen, it is an 
artistic history of which they 
may well be proud. The 
artist, and especially the 
humorous draughtsman, 
cannot be said to accept 
these conditions without a 
murmur, but it is a low 
murmur at the best. Their 
experience of it, and the 
experience of their fathers 
before them, has become 
proverbial, and at the pre- 
sent time the successful 
artist is the man who 
does something else. 

Art and literature go hand in hand, and the 
following words from a little book called 
k * Dutch Life in Town and Country," recently 
published by George Newnes, Ltd., may be 

BRA MCI -.- II ■•:- 

Slow, But Sure, 

C PRjdWN s BY J0HAN |)HA A K ENSl¥© r j | 






Ml*. JAN LtNSfcl 
l '* -..I., a PktiUi. bit Pitirjfittffhauteii, Rutterdnm. 

as truthfully applied to the existing artistic 
conditions in Holland as they are correct in 
describing the literary conditions. "It is a 
great drawback to literary effort in Holland," 
says the writer* u that the honoraria paid to 
authors are so low that most writers who 
happen not to be pecuniarily independent 
—and they are the majority — are unable to 
mate a tolerable subsistence at home by 
the pen alone and are obliged to contribute 
to foreign publications, and some even resort 
to teaching." Unlike the literary man, how- 
ever, the artist is handicapped by his inability 
to contribute to foreign humorous publica- 
tions, Lacking the intimate knowledge of 
the ways of foreign peoples —which, after all, 
is the mainspring of humorous art— he is 
forced to contribute to the publications at 
home and to accept the prices which they 
are compelled by their own straitened 
circumstances to pay. 

There are not more than a dozen papers 
in Holland devoted entirely or in part to 
humour and satire, and of these the principal 
ones are the Ainsierdamnur Weekbtad voor 
Nederland^ the Humorhiisch Alburn^ Uiltn- 
Spiegel, and De Ware Jacob. These four 
represent the different forms of humour 
which the Dutchmen like. The first named, 
popularly called the Wetkblad or "De 
Croene" (from its green co\er), is a 
well-known weekly, which has passed through 
a respectable existence of twenty five years, 
and has attained in that 

considerable power. Its humour consists 
of a special cartoon each week by the 
celebrated Johan Braakensiek, mainly on 
political subjects like the South African 
War, and a page of foreign political cartoons 
either from the pen of Braakensiek or 
from foreign papers. The Wwkbad's 
large cartoon, through the exceptional ability 
of its famous draughtsman, exercises no small 
influence on political thought in Holland, 
and the cartoon, lifted bodily from the paper, 
may often be seen placarded throughout 
Amsterdam in shops and restaurants, where 
all who care to see may see. But Braaken- 
siek, as is shown by the drawing which we 
are privileged to reproduce from Van A Iks 
Wat) a Braakensiek album published by 
Messrs. Holkema and Warendorf, of Amster- 
dam, is something more than a cartoonist 
He is an exceptionally clever and humorous 
book illustrator, and is without question the 
foremost draughtsman in Holland, 

The tium&rhihch Album is a hearty old 
weekly of fifty years, devoted 10 the quieter 
forms of humour, and more nearly approaches 
our English comic papers in appearance and 
contents. Uilettspiegel is a satirical weekly, 
published in Rotterdam, which has been run^ 
ning for about five-and-thirty years* It is a 
little four-page sheets mainly devoted to 
political cartoons, probably to differentiate it 
from the Humorhthch Album, published by 

: time a position of 


Too Ml'CH puh Hi^t. — Guide: "This is tti^ famouH. place 
i>r ihe (w*nty*fo-r echo**, and la^t year a. penile man wtn> 
lizard them suddenly wtnt mad." 

Lady Tourist ; M How did thnt happen ? hh 

Giiicl- : " His mot herein -aw called put to hini^ and when 
he heard timrty-fdtur motticrs-in-Uw at the saint time it was 
too much for him-" 


9 2 


the same concern in Rotterdam. Its title may 
roughly be translated " Fun -Maker" or 
44 Wag*" De Wart Jacob is the baby in 
this family of furi purveyors. Recently estab- 
lished in Rotterdam, under the editorship of 
Mr. E. Cans, and pub- 
lished by the Neder- 
landsche Kiosken- 
Maatschappij, it has 
in its short career of 
about forty numbers 
rapidly taken a popu- 
lar position, and con- 
tains the most modern 
and, in many respects, 
the most interesting 
humorous draughts- 
manship of the day. 
In its prospectus it 
seriously expressed the 
determination to seek 
truth and to Serve 
truth with good taste 
and some humour, to 
show res pee t for 
honest conviction, to 
combat anything 
which is untrue and 
ignoble, and, before everything, to be Dutch* 
11 And in our country there is undoubted 
need of it," slyly remarked one of its con- 

One of the oldest, most experienced, and 
most popular of Dutch humorous artists is 
Mr. Jan Linse, whose work has appeared 
principally, for many years, in the Humor- 
is/isr/i Album. He has lived for some time 
in Rotterdam, but he is now situated at The 
Hague, where he has a pretty home in the 
suburbs. We found Mr* Linse in a room 
filled with innumerable sketches, canvases, 
and half completed pictures, 
and he willingly gave us 
some particulars of his in- 
teresting life* He has since 
sent us a little letter which 
lets in additional light upon 
the career of this favourite 
artist — a letter illustrated at 
the top by a group of three 
men in black, the man in 
the distance bung by no 
great stretch of the i magma - 

Wi Li. Brought Ui\ — " \^x\\ chat medicine nice, Dorothy?"" 

Hl Oh, yes Mam map but don't yuti think we ought lo kep 
it for Papa If M 


lion conceivably a truthful presentment of 
Linse himself, The conjecture is home out 
by the amusing dialogue which the artist has 
written beneath his little sketch:— 

" What curious chap is that who is always 
going about with a cap 
on his head when 
every respectable m::n 
wears a hat?" 

w Why, don't you 
know him ? That's 
Linse — Jan Linse, the 
Humorist isc h Album 
man , the chap who 
used to draw for 
Abraham Prikkk } the 
Spectator^ and for 
other humorous 
papers, and the illus- 
t r a tor of lots of 

" Well, now t h that 
Linse? How old do 
you think he is? 1 ' 

" Sixty, perhaps ; 
but you wouldn't think 
it* He generally goes 
about with younger 
men, ana it makes him feel young too. I 
can't understand how it is you don't know 
him, for he spends half of his life in the 
streets, It's his business. So far as I know 
he has had no University education, and 
ever since he was a child has been impressed 
by the satire and humour which are every- 
where present in life. These impressions he 
began slowly to represent by means of pic- 
tures, and to see something funny gives him 
greater enjoyment than a dinner at the best 
restaurnnt in town. He is a funny chap* If 
he gives up drawing comic pictures for a 
while, cither because he 
wants a change or because 
the Dutch editors pay so 
badly, you may find him 
doing business as an agent 
for wines, or sometimes as 
a commissionaire, showing 
strangers the sights of the 
town. He is a genuine 
Dutchman, and his chief 
drink is a glass of *schie- 
dam,' which he pretends 


Portion ok a Lette* Writtkn &y M*. Jan Lin» to ths .Eoitqr. 





The Theatre Hat,— Mam m*: ■■ 
your hai is in thtf way yf die gentJprjiaii 
U-hind you. You, might easily uke it ■ II. ' 

1 i lire* " But, mamma, if I put it in my 
tap 1 can'l see myself." 

[STLscit ALBUM**' 

he needs for in- 
spiration. Any- 
way, if you want 
to have a laugh, 
just make his acquaintance." 

From this clever little bit of fooling we 
might infer that all artists who draw comic 
pictures are not serious-minded, but Mr. 
Linse has his serious as well as his comic 
side. The demand for his work is never- 
ending, and in the few moments of leisure 
granted to him he uses the brush on more 
ambitious subjects than those appearing in the 
Rotterdam weeklies. By the younger men 
he is looked upon, perhaps, as one of the 
old school, but in these days of political 
caricature, with which the Dutch humorous 
papers are filled, it is pleasurable to find 
one man who can turn out a good comic 
picture and a good joke. In the majority 
of cases Mr. Linse supplies both joke and 
drawing, but often furnishes sketches to 
illustrate jokes sent to him by the editor, 
and occasionally redraws a funny sketch 
sent in by a less practised hand. This 
latter method, by the way, appears to be a 
common thing in Holland, for many of the 
drawings published appear without signature, 
and it is but kindness to attribute the absence 
of these signatures to the fact that artists 

usually refuse to take the credit 
i ■ i r e drawing s k e t c h cs by 
others. John Leech, it will be 
remembered j used sometimes to 
touch up the sketches of good 
jokes contributed by outsiders, 
but, in accordance with the 
custom of Punch artists, he 
never, according to Mr. Spiel- 
mann, signed the drawings so 

To readers of Uiknsptegei the 
signature of lt Orion ?> has long 
been familiar. In fact, it occurs 
so constantly that an outsider 
might be led to believe that 
u Orion ?5 was the only artist 
engaged on the paper. How- 
ever, there are others who 
appear in its pages frequently 
enough to give variety to the 
humour of that famous sheet- 
As for " Orion," he is a host in 
himself, and that he never 
seems to weary by sameness of 
subject is the best tribute to 
his versatility and power. 

The name u Orion " is 

another name for Mr. 

Patrick Kroon, who, a native of Gelder- 

land, obtained his first experience as an 

A Fa Turn's Woes.— 11 T notice thit when you ire at home 
you always have Hukc wads in your cars, but m-ter when you 
arv ■ ut. Do*rNEi K t that sttm the wrong way nlmni ? Ih 

' ll Nm .-it al], my dear sir. At home 1 have six. muttCM 
dau e bici>. 

PRAWN &V JAST yftSlrfajih-lliO'lSlUMOHiSTISCH ALBUll.'' 




artist by means of private lessons. He 
studied at the High School in Zutphen, 
passed from there in 1880, and went to 
Amsterdam for further lessons in draughts- 
manship. He took a diploma as a teacher, 
and worked both at the figure and landscape, 
but, like many another clever man, in a 
country where art is not appreciated at Us 
highest market value until the poor artist is 
dead, Mr. Kroon found the struggle for life 

so great that he 
had to do any- 
thing that came 
to his hand, 
"In Holland," 
he says — and 
in this he hears 
testimony to a 
fact more par- 

Kras " was born in Amsterdam in May, 1874, 
and after living at The Hague and at 
Haarlem settled down in Amsterdam, He 
was brought up to a commercial life, hut 
after taking the course of the Amsterdam 
Commercial School and spending a few 
years in business he adopted journalism as 
his profession, and is now a valued member 
of the editorial staff of one of the largest 
daily papers in Holland* 

A man in the throes of daily journalism 
has little time for other work, but, granted a 
fertile imagination and a facile pen, the 
journalist who possesses them has an advan- 
tage over slower and less imaginative brethren. 
" Chris Kras" possesses both, and the fre- 
quency with which his cartoons appear in 
De Ware Jacob shows that the pencil — 
his first love, as he says himself— is often in 


jPmjn. a rhvlo. bit J* C. Rtrrinck, Zulphrn. 

ticularly touched upon in 

a previous paragraph — "it 

is not yet possible for an 

artist to live entirely by his 

brt^sh and pen." He did 

his first picture for 

Uifenspiegei in 1894, and 

also worked for the Humor- 

isthch Album, his drawings 

for the first-named paper 

bringing him popularity 

and orders for more work. 

Mr. Kroon has contributed to other papers, 

but the three drawings per week which 

usually appear in Uilenspiegel take up the 

main portion of his time. He prefers 

to draw people and political caricatures, 

and his skill in handling heavy blacks 

— a characteristic of his present work is 

acknowledged by his brother craftsmen, the 

best judges of artistic strength. 

The signature of "Chris Kras Kzn," which 
has become widely known to Hollanders 
through the success of De Ware Jacnb l is 
a nom de guerre adopted by a young journalist 
of Amsterdam who has gone into illustration 
merely for his own amusement* "Chris 

* l 'Ave k Ridk, Sik!" 


his hand. He has published several books 
of cartoons on the South African War during 
the progress of that conflict, and a new 
volume of his, called " English Coronation 
Idylls/' has just appeared in Amsterdam 
dealing with the more humorous phases of 
the memorable ceremonial with which the 
new century has been ushered in. Some 
of these drawings are exceptionally clever, 
and in nearly every case good-humoured. 

Among other work done by this versatile 
artist may be mentioned various book illus- 
trations, book covers, posters, and caricatures. 
It is with some difficulty that we have been 
able, froraOrthpnabftiB^ce of material, to 




make a selection from the work 
of rt Chris Kras," showing his 
comic genius. Nearly all his 
drawings have a political ten- 
dency, and would therefore be 
unfamiliar in subject to our 
public. Once in a while we 
get from him a sporting picture 
which is not only funny, but 
shows how keen is this artist 
in depicting all kinds of out- 
door pleasure. He k an 
amateur athlete of considerable 
standing, and in 1892 won the 
first prize in the Hoi land- Cat- 
ford Cycling Competition on 
the Paddington track in 

If "Chris Kras" finds his 
avocation in art and his voca^ 


From a Photo, ha AVwc tt BiUtinffkauteA. 

tion in journalism, Mr, J. H* 
Speenhoff, whose vocation is 
that of an artist, s[>ends his 
odd time in writing plays. 
Several pieces written by him 
and produced at one of the 
Rotterdam theatres have been 
well received by the Holland 
public, and have marked him 
as one of the rising dramatists 
of the day; but it is as a 
humorous artist that Speenhoff 
has attained his widest recogni- 
tion* His experience has been 
more or less cosmopolitan, for 
he has worked in Rotterdam, 
Antwerp, and Glasgow, and 
has varied the monotony of a 
successful artist's life by a three 
years' experience at sea. He 



A Carnival Procession. 



9 6 


studied drawing at the 
Academy in Rotterdam and 
at Antwerp, and, in addition 
to his draughtsmanship in De 
Ware Jacobs has worked on 
IVoord en Beeld^ the Rotter- 
dam Dagblad, and the Rotter- 
dam WeekMad* He has illus- 
trated many books, particularly 
"The War of the Worlds," by 
Mr, H. G. Wells, and has coiv 
tributed many articles to Dutch 
publications which he has illus- 
trated with his own hand* Li 
a recent conversation Mr. 
Speenhoff remarked: "In 
many respects I follow Caran 
tl'Ache and Degas in my draw- 
ing ; but I look upon Mr. E.T. Reed, of Punch, 
as my master. Though our methods in draw- 
ing are different, the intellectual stimulus I 
get from Reed's work is very great" 

Speenhoff is a quick worker and prefers 
pen-and-ink. He is apt at versification, and 
can put a quatrain to a drawing with as 

MH. y. H, SKfUtHHOFft, 
From a t J tv/l<>. 

pretty a facility as he can illus- 
trate someone else's verse with 
his own pen — in fact, he is an 
all-round man, and as good a 
critic as he is an artist It is 
whispered that a well-known 
gentleman near the Bosphorus 
was particularly cut up by some 
sketches done by Speenhoff for 
a paper called Daoul^ but that 
episode recalls one only of 
many in which Speenhoff has 
made a hit. The artist him- 
self is an intellectual looking 
young man of thirty-two. 

Mr. P. Das, of whose work 
we give an example, lives at 
The Hague, and was born 
near Leyden in 18S1. He left the elemen- 
tary school at the age of twelve and became 
apprenticed to an ordinary painter and 
decorator, who for two years encouraged 
him with painting lessons at The Hague 
Academy. He later took employment in a 
pottery manufactory, and left it to assist the 

" Do good, and don't look bade" 

*" Cunning need nevtr go afuvt, 

11 The best help is swift and s>iknt. 

He who is deaf can feel the better," 

r — T - ""■— --..■-.". **w "jiu 1.1 ur^j i^iLLi 4.1: :^\ \ 





well-known poster artist, Rimchel. At the 
age of nineteen he became chief decorator 
to a leading firm at The Hague, a position 
which he at present holds. Mr. Das 
contributes principally to De Ware Jacob \ 
and his work is peculiarly humorous in 
quality, although very infrequent. His is 
another case of the man with real artistic 
insiincts who, by force of circumstances in 
Holland, is compelled to sacrifice in mer- 
cantile work the talents which might so widely 
be recognised in the smaller world of art. 

Dc IV art Jacob possesses on its staff 
several other clever artists, who, through the 
kindly encouragement of the paper's enter- 
prising editor, have done much to enhance 
their own reputation and his. 
Occasionally is published w 
sketch of Mr. Willy Sluiter, 
who was a pupil of the Academy 
of Fine Arts in Rotterdam ami 
The Hague Academy, Mr, 
Sluiter is, however, primarily a 
painter, and in the Paris Fair 
of 1900 obtained a bronze 
medal for his picture, " Horses 
on the Beach." The well-known 
Kee-s van Dongen, who has 
been for some years in Paris 
contributing to Le Rt're, Gil 
Bias, La Caricature^ and other 
papers, is now in Rotterdam, 
near which he was born and 
where he studied ; and occasion- 
ally has a drawing in De Ware Jacob. Mr. van 
Dongen has worked in Steinlen's studio, and 
is a friend of that popular artist. Among 
the lady contributors may be mentioned 
Miss Nelly Bodenheim, who, however, pos- 
sesses a greater reputation as a book 
illustrator than as a comic artist. Her 

MRk p- dab. 
Sketched by hanul/. 

Plak" and " Het Regent — Het Zegent/' 
show real humour and an excellent faculty 
in the manipulation of blacks. Miss 
Bodenheim has been a pupil of Mr. Jan 
Veth f the celebrated Dutch portrait painter. 

Beside Jan Linse, the Humorittmh Album 
numbers among its contributors Mr. S* 
Grans, who resides at The Hague, and 
Mr. J. van Ooyen, who lives at Amsterdam, 
The latter is, we think, the more finished 
artist, although the influence of the French 
is noticeable in his work. 

Among other papers in Holland which 
contain humorous drawings, either original 
or, by virtue of the beneficent workings of 
the copyright law, " lifted " from other 
papers, may be mentioned the 
Amsterdam^ fie Canning the 
Starve* shladi Reintje de Vos^ 
il'ere/dknmiek^nA De Kijker. 
The Courant issues an illustra- 
ted Sunday supplement, con- 
taining a few comic drawings 
which appear to have been 
made in < iermany, The Siui- 
versb/ad, published in Amster- 
dam at a penny, looks like 
Pitk-Me-Up, and is representa- 
tive of the humour of the world 
because the humour of the 
world is in it. For this the 
scissors is responsible. Little 
more can be said of Reinije de 
Pos> a sixteen page penny paper 
published in Rotterdam, which contains many 
sketches of German origin, The Kijker is a 
small Amsterdam paper devoted to amuse- 
ment interests^ which contains music-hall 
drawings interlarded with funny isms. The 
Haliandsche I I lustra tie contains an occasional 
humorous picture, and the Wereldkronkk 

clever books of nursery rhymes, " Handje reproduces a few foreign political cartoons. 

Vol M1V.-1* 

How Hi Raised Hemkbi.f is His Weff/s Estimation. 



Some Wonders from the JVest. 


Vrmn a) 



k, C K. SOBER, of J.ewis- 
burg, Pennsylvania, is the 
most wonderful crack shot in 
the world. He performs mar- 
vellous feats not attempted by 
professionals, such as shoot- 
ing accurately with a keg or barrel tied to 
his gun so as to prevent his ** drawing a 
bead " on the target, r\e, 7 aiming through the 
sights ; firing with the gun reversed over his 
head; sighting a bird with a hand mirror; 
and numerous other 
wonderful performances 
calling for marvellous 

This champion marks- 
man has challenged, and 
still challenges, any 
crack shot in America 
or abroad, professional 
or amateur, to meet him 
in a contest. His skill 
with the gun is almost 
beyond belief. He 
shoots with precision 
from almost every con- 
ceivable position and 
with the gun in every 
variety of grasp— under 
him, over him, to right, 
to left, sitting and stand- 

the gun above his head, between his feet, 
upside down, thrust through barrels, boxes, 
and tables — in every position except with the 
muzzle in his hand. With a rifle in any of 
these trick positions he can catch a bird on 
the wing as nicely as any crack shot who takes 
steady aim and .sights in the usual manner. 

Mr. Sober follows the sport solely for his 
own amusement, and it is a difficult task lo 
induce him to give a public exhibition of his 
skill. Such exhibitions have been given at 

tag or lying down ; with -£— j 

3y Google 







rare intervals to his friends in Lew is burg, 
however -and marvellous displays of wonder- 
ful marksmanship they have 

This 4t gentleman crack 
shot/' as he is termed, because 
of his decided refusal to turn 
his skill with the gun to com- 
mercial value, has arranged a 
chronological programme of 
his fancy shooting, commenc- 
ing with the least difficult and 
working up to an exciting 
climax of wcsnderful shots. 

The initial trick is shooting 
at birds on the wing with a 
251b. powder keg on his gun- 
harrels, the gun being upside 
down and held at about the 
level of his chin, as shown in 
our first illustration. Several 
birds having been brought 
down in this manner, Mr. 
Sober makes ready for the 
second number in his series 
of keg shots. He swings the 
£un above his head, and with 
the fire-arm in this position, 
aill handicapped by the keg- 
covered barrels, sights his bird, 
takes aim, and fires, nearly 
always sending the shot true ^^ 

Digitized by G< 

and bringing down 
the feathered victim, 
A shot acknow- 
ledged by all expert 
sportsmen to be most 
difficult, and one in 
which Mr. Sober 
shows wonderful skill, 
in the completion of 
the keg series. Swing- 
ing the gun from his 
shoulder the cham- 
pion thrusts the keg 
between his knees, 
and with the barrel of 
the gun behind him 
he bends nearly 
double to sight his 
game, and fires with 
accuracy at a bird in 
full flight. 

With a box measur- 
ing 12m. by 12m. on 
his gun, Mr, Sober 
seats himself in a 
chair, and> balancing 
the boxed rifle on 
one foot, he fires single-handed. 

Next comes his wonderful ** table " shot. 

[Phoia r 







Thegun is thrust 
ihrouizli a table 
weighing 141b., 
raised over his 
head and held 
upside down. 
Mr. Sober is the 
originator of the 
trick, and he is 
the only man 
known to per- 
form it success- 

The flour- 
barrel tricks arc 
also interesting, 
and call for 
well - developed 
muscle, steady 
nerves, and 
clever workman- 
ship. There are 
several of the 
barrel tricks* 
The gun in the 
first one is thrust 
through the 
middle of an 
ordinary flour- 
barrel The barrel and gun are then turned 
upside down, and raised high above the head 
while the shot is fired. 

Next Mr. Sober, sitting in a chair, balances 

/' raw a) 


the barrel up- 
right on one 
foot, as shown 
in the illustra- 
tion given be- 
low. Then the 
champion lies 
flat on his back 
on the ground, 
and turning 
barrel and gun 
upside down 
shoots over his 
head behind 
him at the clay 
pigeons, birds 
on the wing, or 
glass balls* But 
the last of these 
feats is the most 
wonderful, the 
gun being 
weighted by no 
fewer than three 
encumber i ng 
articles— a soap- 
box, a barrel, 
and a smaller 
keg on the top, 
From the fact that for the past ten years 
Mr. Sober has hunted ruffed grouse almost 
entirely— that bird of all the feathered game 
in America that flushes and gets into full 


.from a] 







flight most rapidly— he has acquired a mar- 
vellous skill in win;* shooting. Recently he 

made a straight run of thirty two "downs " 
on ruffed grouse during a tramp through the 
forest around his home. Again, he brought 
down fifty out of fifty five fired at. He has 
a record of 537 wild pigeons brought down 
in three days, and at no time did he kill 
more than one bird at a shot. 

In a contest held near his home not long 
since, Mr. Sober broke 100 blue rocks -out of 
101 put up. He has killed ninety-six live 
pigeons out of 100 aimed at on the win^ at 
twenty one yards jse, and using one barrel 
only. At a match of twelve live bats to each 
man, at which seventeen shooters contested, 
Mr. Sober won with a score of eleven killed, 
it being the only match at bats in which 
he has contested. When he attends trap 
matches he invariably makes clean stores at 
glass balls, blue rocks, and live pigeons* 

The most remarkable exhibitions of Mr. 
Sobers skill are, however, in the trick shoot- 
ing, or, as he terms it, "rough-and-tumble 
shooting/ 1 in which his scores are fully equal 
to those made by many trap-shooters who 
fire from the shoulder and not In any way 

Through long practice of these feats — 
many of which he originated — Mr, Sober 
has become so expert that he claims he can 
perform more unique shots with the double- 
barrelled shot-gun than any other living mam 

Digitized by GoOgk 

He performs at 
least one hundred 
feats, each shot 
being more mar- 
vellous than the 
preceding one, all 
from different 
positions or under 
new forms of han- 
dicap. Mr. Sober 
breaks glass balls 
or blue rocks 
from either shoul- 
der, with hand- 
kerchiefs tied 
around b o t h 
barrels of his gun, 
with the barrels 
thrust through 
objects of differ- 
ent sizes, varying 
from a cigar- box 
up to a flour- 
barrel, with his 
gun either side 
up, and in many 
other ways, with wonderful accuracy. He 
even springs his own trap and then breaks 
the target. 

The first gun he used was an old flint lock 
owned by an elder brother, and with that 
the boy killed squirrels and rabbits by the 

flKHIKlJ ,-l -KfcGi AftlJ SMALL KEU 


Still sv„_ 

n from 





hundred {game was plentiful in Pennsylvania 
then), and with it he downed quails occa- 
sionally — on the wing as well. 

The first gun he owned he bought for 
one dollar and a half, and it was a 28111, 
20-gauge single barrel j which, Mr. Sober 
says, was made from pot-metal ; but with it 
he did great work on quails and pheasants 
on the wing, and he still has that old gun. 
Next he had another single 28m. 14-gauge 
gun made to order, with which he did fine 
shooting also. His third ^un was a double- 
barrelled 30m. 14-gauge that weighed Sib., 
and with it he defeated the best shots 
in Pennsylvania at the trap in pigeon- 

For shooting game he now uses a cylinder- 
bore 28in, barrels of either 10 or 12-gauge. 

His ccver-shooting for some ten years has 
been confined to ruffed grouse, which he 
claims is the games* bird in America; and in 
hunting them he uses pointer dogs which he 
has himself trained, now having four of 
them. He has no use for setters in that 
pursuit, for he says that they are too head- 
strong and fast and not sufficiently cautious, 
Mr + Sober has spent much of his time in 
the forest hunting out timber lands and 
superintending lumber operations, pursuits 
that have enabled him to follow his favourite 
course of shooting ruffed grouse almost con- 
stantly during the proper season. His record 
of the number of those birds killed by him 
during the past few years is astonishing. He 
has a total for eight years of 814 birds, or 
an average of over 101 each season. 


The methods and time occupied in carry- 
ing out building operations by ordinary work- 
men offer a striking contrast with those 
which have been proved possible in America, 
The idea of erecting a two-storied building 
measuring 8ofL in length by 50ft. in width 
in four and a half hours would cause old- 
fashioned artisans to stand aghast, yet this 
unique feat was accomplished a short while 
ago at Paterson, New Jersey. 

As might be naturally supposed the 
achievement was the result of a wager. Mr. 
Peter S, Van Kirk, 
the head of a large 
firm of contractors 
and builders in 
that town, contem- 
plated erecting a 
new workshop to 
accommodate his 
carpenters. The 
site of the building 
was at the corner of 
Fulton and River 
Streets, two impor- 
tant thoroughfares, 
When ihe designs 
for the building 
had been com- 
pleted and every- 
thing was practic- 
ally ready for com- 
mencing the work, 
the principal met 
a friend of his, a 
wealthy brewer, 
and casually men- 


tioned that he was about to erect a new 
carpenters' workshop and expected to have it 
up in a few days. The brewer, evidently 
discrediting the possibility of workmen 
hastening to complete a contract, waggishly 
replied that the building might take as lon^ 
to erect as the Passaic County Court House, 
which had occupied five years. To this Mr, 
Van Kirk retorted that, once he got started 
upon the work t it would take but a very 
short while to get it up. 

The brewer, however, was still sceptical of 


OrTrjInar Tram 







the builder's prowess, and an animated dis- 
cussion followed. One word led to nn other, 
and at last, exasperated by his friend's taunts, 
Mr. Van Kirk wagered that he would erect 
the workshop in less than half a working day 
with his own force of men — that is to say, he 
would not requisition the services of any men 
outside of his existing staff for this special 
occasion. The brewer accepted the challenge* 
The wager was for >£soo T and a supper for 
all the men em- 
ployed upon the 
work* The terms 
of the wager stipu- 
lated that the 
building should 
measure Soft, in 
length by 50ft. in 
width and be two 
stones hiiih ; the 
sides would be en- 
closed and ren- 
dered weather- 
proof, the roof 
placed in position, 
-and windows and 
doors fixed --in 
short, the shop had 
to be completed 
for occupancy. 

The bargain 
concluded, the 
contractor called ^>i 

Digitized by GOOQK' 

his employes 
together and ex- 
plained the wager. 
The men entered 
into the spirit of 
the contest and 
preparations were 
hurried forward for 
deciding the bet. 
The men were told 
just what to do, so 
that there should 
be no confusion 
or progress unduly 
impeded iti any 
way. The ground 
upon which the 
workshop was to 
be built was 
cleared and all the 
necessary material 
brought upon the 
spot and prepared 
for erection. It 
may be as well to 
explain that the 
building was to be a frame structure — that is 
to say, it was to be built throughout of wood 
in the characteristic American fashion. Of 
course, it would have been absolutely out of 
the question to have raised such a large 
house in so short a space of time with 
ordinary bricks and masonry. 

When all the materials had been conveyed 
to the scene of operations and everything was 
ready for the carrying out of the wager, the 







Froma] the extendi* of the iiduse coniru.TjvD in less titan tkree hours. \Phetc. 

two parties to the bet arrived to see that the 
work was fairly and properly accomplished. 
The news of the wager had spread over the 
town, and a large crowd of curiosity piqued 
spectators also assembled to witness the 
spectacle. The weather was most un propi- 
tious for the successful carrying out of the 
wager. A thick pall of snow covered the 
ground and a cold, bleak wind was blowing, 
while the sky was dull and overcast 

At midday Mr. Van Ivirk called together 
and lined up all the men who were to par- 
ticipate in the contest. Punctually as the 
clock struck one the contractor shouted 
"Go." In less than a minute the whole 
gang of men had commenced operations. 
Although every man worked as hard as he 
could, there was no bustle or confusion. 
In less time than it takes to tell the frame- 
work was raised and the men were busily 
engaged in bolting the heavy timbers securely 
together. There was to be no scamping of 
the work. Everything was to be completed 
in just the same manner as if the building 
had been erected under normal conditions. 
As suun as the framework of one side had 
been fitted together other men set to work 
to attach the boards forming the wall. While 
this was in progress the framework of another 
side was being completed, 

Dinctly the framework had been erected 
as high as the first floor, another body of 
workmen set to work hoisting into position 
the rafters to support the floor. The men 
went at it with a will. They were so bent 
upon breaking the record that they would 

Digitized by GoOglc 

not pause for a 
minute to permit 
of any photos, 
being taken. In 
our illustrations 
the number of 
men em ployed 
may appear to be 
insignificant, but 
this is explained 
by the fact that 
they were distri- 
buted throughout 
the building. 
Each man had 
been assigned a 
certain section of 
work to accom- 
plish, and by this 
means there was 
no interference 
with each others 
part of it. 
Directly the framework for the sides had 
been erected the rafters to the roof were 
swung into their places and the roofing was 
hurried forward. Simultaneously, therefore, 
workmen were busily employed in attaching 
the sides and the roof of the workshop. The 
windows and doors had to be fixed as the 
work progressed. The roof was covered with 
a rainproof substance. In less than three 
hours the building was finished so far as the 
exterior was concerned. 

The men now entered the building and 
operations were commenced upon the floors 
and the fittings bf the establishment. The 
rafters were already in position, so that ii 
was only necessary to lay the floorboards. 
The stairs, however, had to be arranged, and 
this operation alone occupied considerable 
time, The crowd outside followed the wager 
with enthusiastic excitement. Now that the 
men were working in the interior of the 
workshop out of sight they could only 
speculate among themselves by what a<tu:il 
time the work would lie accomplished, and 
some lively betting among themselves was 
the result, They waited patiently for the 
announcement that the task was achieved 
and that Mr. Van Kirk had won his bet. 
Nor had they long to wait At half-past five 
there was a rousing cheer from the workmen, 
which was taken up with equal avidity by the 
crowd, which testified that the work was 
finished- It was a record feat. The whole 
building had been put up and was ready for 
immediate occupation within the short space 
of four and a half hours ! 


Bv E, Nesbit, 


ETS wish for wings" said 
Anthea, when they had 
found the psammead, and 
were ready to have the day's 

" Oh, do let's," said Jane ; 
**it would be like a bright dream of delicious- 
ness*" So the sand-fairy blew itself out, and 
next moment each child had a funny feeling, 
half heaviness and half lightness, on its 
shoulders. The sand- fairy put its head on 
■ '\k Mfie and turned its snail's eyes from one 
to the other 

'* Not such bad wings," it said, " but don't 
forget they only last till sunset. If you're 
flying too high when the sun goes down — 
^eli, I'll s-ay no more.'* The wings were 
very big and gloriously beautiful, for they 
*ere soft and smooth, and every feather lay 
neatly in its place. And the feathers were 
of the most lovely mixed changing colours, 
like the rainbow, or iridescent glass, or the 
beautiful scum thnt sometimes floats on 
*ater that is not at all nice to drink. 

Digitized by LpOOQK' 

"Oh ! but can we fly?" 
Jane said, standing anxiously, 
first on one foot and then on 
the other. 

" Look out," said Cyril, 
"you're treading on my 

"Does it hurt?" asked 
Anthea, with interest, but 
no one answered, for Robert 
had spread his wings and jumped up, and 
now he was slowly rising in the air. He 
looked very awkward in his knickerboeker 
suit — his boots, in particular, hung help- 
lessly, and seemed much larger than when 
he was standing in them. But the others 
cared but little bow he looked, or how they 
looked, for that matter ■ for now they all 
spread out their wings and rose in the air. 
Of course, you all know what flying feels 
like, because everyone has dreamed about 
flying, and it seems so beautifully easy, only 
you never can remember how you did it ; 
and, as a rule, you have to do it without 
wings in your dreams, which is more clever 
and uncommon, but not so easy to remem- 
ber the rule for. Now, the four children 
rose flapping from the ground, and you can't 
think how good the air felt running against 
their faces. Their wings were tremendously 
A'ide when they were spread out, and they 
had to fly quite a long way apart so as not 
to get in each other's way. But little things 
like this are easily learned. 
Original from 



All the words in the English dictionary 
and in the Greek lexicon as well are, I find, 
of no use at all to tell you exactly what it 
feels like to be flying, so I will not try ; but 
I will say that to look down on the fields 
and woods instead of along at them is 
something like looking at a beautiful 
live map, where, instead of silly dolours 
on paper, you have real moving sunny 
fields and 
woods laid out 
one after the 
other. As Cyril 
said, and I can't 
think where he 
got hold of such 
a strange expres- 
sion, " It does 
you a fair treat." 
It was most 
wonderful, and 
more like real 
magic than any 
wish the chil- 
dren had had 
yet. They 
flapped and 
flew and sailed 
on their great 
rainbow wings, 
between green 
earth and blue sky, and 
they flew right over 
Rochester and then 
swerved round towards 
Maidstone, and pre- 
sently they all began to 
feel extremely hungry. 
Curiously enough, this 
happened when they 
were flying rather low, 
and just as they were 
crossing an orchard 
where some early 
plums shone red and 

They paused on their 
wings. I cannot explain 
to you how this is done, 
but it is something like treading water when 
you are swimming, and hawks do it extremely 

" Yes, I dare say." said Cyril, though no 
one had spoken. " But stealing is stealing 
even if you've got wings." 

"Do you really think so?" said Jane, 
briskly. " If you've got wings you're a bird, 
and no one minds birds breaking the Com- 
mandments. At least, they may mind, but 

"Hft ^i^aj^ „3 


the birds always do it, and no one scolds 
them or sends them to prison." 

It was not so easy to perch on a plum- 
tree as yon might think, because the rainbow 
wings were so very large ; but somehow they 

all managed to 
do it, and the 
plums were cer- 
tainly very sweet 
and juicy. 

it was not till 
they had all had 
quite as many 
plums as were 
good for them 
that they saw a 
stout man, who 
looked exactly 
as though he 
owned the 
plum- trees, 
come hurrying 
^ _ t hroug h the 

kj fel A- *I_— -— - orchard -gate 

_—...... with a thick 

stick, and with 
one accord they 
their wings from 
the plum-laden 
branches and 
began to fly. 

The man 
stopped short, 
with his mouth 
open. For he 
had seen the 
boughs of his 
trees moving 
and twitching, 
and he had said 
to himself: 
" Them young 
varmint — at it 
again ! " And 
he had come 
out at once — 
for the lads of 
the village had taught him in past seasons 
that plums want looking after. And when 
he saw the rainbow wings flutter up out of 
the plum tree he felt that he must have 
gone quite mad, and he did not like the 
feeling at all. And when Anthea looked 
down and saw hrs mouth go slowly open, 
and stay so, and his face become green 
and mauve in patches, she called out : 
" Don't be frightened," and felt hastily in 





her pocket for a threepenny -bit with a hole 
in it, which she had meant to hang on a 
ribbon round her neck for luck. She hovered 
round the unfortunate plum owner, and said : 
" We have had some of your plums ; we 
thought it wasn't stealing, but now I am not 
so sure. So here's some money to pay for 

She swooped down towards the terror- 
stricken grower of plums and slipped the 
coin into the pocket of his jacket, and in a 
few flaps she had re- 
joined the others. 

The farmer sat 
down on the grass, 
suddenly and 


iB Well, Im blessed ! " he said. " This here 
is what they call delusions, I suppose. But 
the threepenny" — he pulled it out and hit 
K— li that* real enough. Well, from this day 
forth 111 be a better man. It's the kind of 
thing to sober a chap for life, this is, I'm 

by L^OOgle 

glad it was only wings, though. I'd rather 
see birds as aren't there and couldn't he, 
even if they pretend to talk, than some things 
as [ could name." 

He got up slowly and heavily and went 
indoors, and he was so nice to his wife that 
day that she was quite happy, and said to 
herself, " I,aw, whatever have a-come to the 
man ! " and smartened herself up r.nd put a 
blue ribbon bow at the place where her 
collar fastened on, and looked so pretty that 
he was kinder than ever. 
So perhaps the winded 
children really did do one 
good thing that day. If so, 
it was the only one — for 
really there is nothing like 
wings for getting you into 
trouble. But, if you are 
in trouble, there is nothing 
like wings for getting you 
out of it. 

This was the case in the 
matter of the fierce dog 
who sprang out at them 
when they had folded up 
their wings as small as 
possible and were going up 
to a farm door to ask for 
a crust of bread and cheese, 
for, in spite of the plums, 
they were soon just as 
hungry as ever again. 

Now, there is no doubt 
whatever that if the four 
had been ordinary wingless 
children that black and fierce dog would have 
had a good bite out of the brown-stockinged 
leg of Robert, who was the nearest. But at 
its First growl there was a flutter of wings> 
and the dog was left to strain at his chain 
and stand on his hind legs as if he were 
trying to fly too. 

They tried several other farms, but at those 
where there were no dogs the people were far 
too friLihii-m d to do anything but scream ; 
and at last, when it was nearly four o'clock, 
and their wings were getting miserably 
stiff and tired, they alighted on a church 
tower and held a council of wnr + 

" We can't possibly fly all the way home 
without dinner or tea/' said Robert, with 
desperate decision. 

"And nobody will give us any dinner or 
even lunch, let alone tea/' said Cyril 

11 Perhaps the clergyman here might/' 
suggested Anthea. " lie must know all 

about angels -" 

*' Anybody could see we're not that," said 
Original from 




Jane, "Look at Robert's boots and 
Squirrel's plaid necktie, 11 

"Well," said Cyril, firmly, "if the 
country you're in won't sell provisions you 
take them. In wars, I mean. I'm quite 
certain you do. And even In other stories 
no good brother would allow his little sisters 
to starve in the midst of plenty," 

" Plenty ? " repeated Robert, hungrily \ 
and the others looked vaguely round the 
bare leads of the church tower, and 
murmured, " In the midst of?" 

hungry and unspeakably sinful at one and 
the same time. 

" Some of it," was the cautious reply. 

Everyone now turned oui his pockets on 
the lead roof of the tower, where visitors for 
a couple of hundred years had cut their own 
and their sweethearts 1 initials with pen- 
knives in the soft lead* There was five and 
seven pence halfpenny altogether, and even 
the upright Anthea admitted that that was 
too much to pay for four people's dinners- 
Robert said he thought eighteenpenee. 

And half a crown was finally agreed to he 
" handsome/'' 

So Anthea wrote on the back of her last 
term's report, from which she first tore her 

+ 4 Hlw.44 

i[ Yes," said Cyril, impressively, "There is 
a larder window at the side of the clergy- 
man's house, and I saw things to eat inside 
custard pudding, and cold chicken and 
tongue, and pies, and jam. It's rather a 
high window, but with wings " 

11 How clever of you ! " said Jane. 

'* Not at all/ 1 said Cyril, modestly ; "any 
horn general — Napoleon or the Duke of 
Marlborough- would have seen it just the 
same as 1 did/' 

lfc It seems very wrong, 1 ' said Anthea. 

iC Nonsense/ 1 said Cyril, '* What was it Sir 
Philip Sydney said when the soldier wouldn't 
stand him a drink?—' My necessity is greater 
than his.'" 

"We'll club our money, though, and leave 
it to pay for the things, won't we ?" Anthea 
was persuasive, and very nearly in tears, 
because it is most trying to feel enormously 

by Google 


own name and that of the school, the follow- 
ing letter : — 

" I )ea r Revere n d CI erg y ma n , — We a re 
very hungry indeed because of having to fly 
all day, and we think it is not stealing when 
you are starving to death. We are afraid to 
ask you for fear you should say ' no/ because, 
of course, you know about angels, hut you 
would not think we were angels* We will 
only take the necessities of life and no 
pudding or pie, to show you it is not greedi- 
ness but true starvation that forces us to 
make your larder stand and deliver. But we 
are not highwaymen by trade/' 

"Cut it short/' said the others with one 
accord* And Anthea hastily added : — 

"Our intentions are quite honourable, 
if you only knew. And heie is half a 
crown to show we' are sincere and grateful. 
Thank vou for your kind hospitality — From 
Us Four/' 

The half-crown was wrapped in this letter, 
and all the children felt that when the ckigy- 
man had read it he would understand every- 
Original from 




ihing as well as anyone could who had not 
seen the wings. 

" Now," said Cyril, " of course, there's 
some risk ; we'd better fly straight down the 
other side of the tower and then flutter low 
across the churchyard and in through the 
shrubbery. There doesn't seem to l>e any- 
one about But you never know. The 
window looks out into the shrubbery. It 
is embowered in foliage, like a window in 
a story. I'll go in and 
get the things. Robert 
and Anthea can take 
them as I hand them 
out through the window 
—and Jane can keep 
watch — ■ her eyes are 
sharp — and whistle if 
she sees anyone about 
Shut up, Robert ; she 
can whistle quite well 
enough for that, anyway. 
It ought not to be a 
very good whistle — it'll 
sound more natural and 
bird-like. Now, then — 
off we go ! "' 

I cannot pretend that 
stealing is right I can 
only say that on this 
occasion it did not look 
like stealing to the 
hungry four, but ap- 
peared in the light of 
a fair and reasonable 
business transaction. 
They had never hap- 
pened to learn that a 
tongue— hardly cut into 
— a chicken and a loaf 
of bread, and a siphon 
of soda-water cannot be 
bought in shops for half 
a crown. These were the necessaries of life 
which Cyril handed out of the larder 
window when, quite unobserved and with- 
out hindrance or adventure, he had led the 
others to that happy spot He felt that 
to refrain from jam, apple turnovers, cake, 
and mixed candied peel was a really heroic 
act — and I agree with him. He was also 
proud of not taking the custard pudding, and 
there I think he was wrong, because if he had 
taken it there would have been a difficulty 
about returning the dish. No one, however 
starving, has a right to steal china pie-dishes 
with little pink flowers on them. The soda 
water siphon was different. They could not 
do without something to drink, and as the 

maker's name was on it they felt sure it 
would be returned to him wherever they 
might leave it. If they had time they would 
take it back themselves. The man appeared 
to live in Rochester, which would not be 
much out of their way home. 

Everything was carried up to the top of 

the tower and laid down on a sheet of 

kitchen paper which Cyril had found on the 

top shelf of the larder. As he unfolded it 

Anthea said, " I don't think 

thafs a necessity of life." 

Yes, it is," said he. 
" VVe must put the things 
down somewhere to cut 
them up, and I heard father 
say the other day people got 
diseases from germans in 
rain-water. Now, there must 
be lots of rain-water here — 





and when it dries up the ger- 
mans are left— and they'd get 
i nto the things and we should 
all die of scarlet fever." 
" What are germans ? " 
" Little waggly things you see with micro- 
scopes," said Cyril, with a scientific air. 
" They give you every illness you can think 
of. I'm sure the paper was a necessary, just 
as much as the bread and meat and water. 
Now, then. Oh, nly eyes, I am hungry ! " 

I do not wish to describe the picnic party 
on the top of the tower. You can imagine 
well enough what it is like to carve a chicken 

Original from 




and a tongue with a knife that has only one 
blade -and that snapped off short about half- 
way down. But it was done. Eating with 
)our fingers is greasy and not easy — and 
paper dishes soon get to look very spotty and 
horrid. But one thing you can't imagine, 
and that is how soda-water behaves when you 
try to drink it straight out of a siphon — 
especially a quite full one. But if imagina- 
tion will not help you, experience will, and 
you can easily try it for yourself, if you can 
get a grown up to give you the siphon. If you 
want to have a really 
thorough experience, put 
the tube in your mouth 
and press the handle 
very suddenly and very 
hard. You . had bette r 
do it when you are alone, 
and out of doors is best 
for this experiment. 

children slept warmly and happily on, for 
wings are cosier than eider-down quilts 
to sleep under. The shadow of the 
church tower fell across the churchyard 
and across the vicarage and across the field 
beyond, and presently there were no more 
shadows— and the sun had set and the wings 
were gone. And still the children slept — 
but not for long. Twilight is very beautiful, 
but it is chilly, and you know, however sleepy 
you are, you wake up soon enough if your 
brother or sister happens to be up first and 


When the children had done dinner they 
grew strangely sleepy, and before it was a 
quarter of an hour after dinner they had all 
curled round and tucked themselves up 
under their large, soft, warm wings and were 
fast asleep. And the sun was sinking slowly 
in the west. (I must say it was in the west 
because it is usual in books to say so, for 
fear careless people should think it was 
setting in the east. In point of fact it 
was not exactly in the west either, but 
that's near enough.) The sun, I repeat, 
was sinking slowly in the west, and the 

by LiOOgle 

pulls your blankets off 
you. The four wingless 
children shivered and 
woke. And there they 
were, on the top of a 
church tower in the dusky 
twilight, with blue stars 
coming out by ones and 
twos and tens and twenties over their heads 
— miles away from home, with three and 
three half -pence in their pockets, and a 
doubtful act about the necessities of life to 
be accounted for if anyone found them with 
the soda-water siphon. 

They looked at each other. Cyril spoke 
first, picking up the siphon :— 

" We'd better get along down and get rid 
of this beastly thing. It's dark enough to 
leave it on the clergyman's doorstep, I should 
think. Come on." 

There was a little turret at the corner of 
Original from 



ii i 

the tower, and the little turret bad a door in 
it. They had noticed this when they were 
eating, but had not explored it, as you 
would have done in their place. Because, 
of course, when you have wings and can 
explore the whole sky, doors seem hardly 
worth exploring. 

Now they turned towards it 
" Of course," said Cyril, " this is the way 

It was. But the door was locked on the 
inside ! 

And the world was growing darker and 
darker. And they were miles from home. 
And there was the soda-water siphon. 

I shall not tell you whether anyone cried, 
nor, if so, how many cried, nor who cried. 
Vou will be better employed in making up 
your minds what you would have done if you 
had been in their place. 

When they grew calmer Anthea put her 
handkerchief in her pocket and her arm 
round Jane and said : — 

" It can't be for more than one night. We 
can signal with our handkerchiefs in the 
morning. They'll be dry then. And some- 
one will come up and let us out " 

" And find the siphon/' said Cyril, 
gloomily, "and we shall be sent to prison for 

" You said it wasn't stealing ; you said 
you were sure it wasn't" 

11 I'm not sure now" said Cyril, shortly. 
" I>et's throw the beastly thing slap away 
among the trees," said Robert, "then no one 
can do anything to us." 

" Oh, yes " — Cyril's laugh was not a light- 
hearted one— "and hit some chap on the 
head and be murderers as well as — as the 
other thing." 

There was a pause. Then Cyril said, 
slowly : " Look here ; we must risk that 
siphon. I'll button it up inside my jacket ; 
perhaps no one will notice it. You others 
keep well in front of me. There are lights 
in the clergyman's house. They've not gone 
to bed yet. We must just yell as loud as 
ever we can. Now, all scream when I say 
* three,' Robert, you do the yell like a railway 
engine, and I'll do the coo-ee like father's. 
The girls can do as they please. One, two, 
three : " 

A four-fold yell rent the silent peace of the 
evening, and a maid at one of the vicarage 
windows paused with her hand on the blind- 

"One, two, three ! " Another yell, piercing 
and complex, startled the owls and starlings 
to a flutter of feathers in the belfry below. 


The maid fled from the vicarage windows 
and ran down the vicarage stairs and into the 
vicarage kitchen, and feinted as soon as she 
had explained to the manservant and the 
cook and the cook's cousin that she had 
seen a ghost. It was quite untrue, of course, 
but I suppose the girl's nerves were a little 
upset by the yelling. 

" One, two, three ! " The vicar was on his 
doorstep by this time, and there was no 
mistaking the yell that greeted him. 

" Goodness me," he said to his wife ; " my 
dear, someone's being murdered in the 
church. Give me my hat and a thick stick 
and tell Andrew to come after me. I expect 
it's the lunatic who stole the tongue." And 
he rushed out, dragging Andrew by the arm. 

A volley of yells greeted them. As it 
died into silence Andrew shouted : " Halloa, 
you there ! Did you call ? " 

"Yes," shouted four far-away voices. 

" They seem to be in the air," said the 
vicar ; " very remarkable." 

"Where are you?" shouted Andrew, and 
Cyril replied in his deepest voice, very slow 
and loud : — 

"Church! Tower! Top!" 

"Come down, then," said Andrew. And 
the voice replied : — 

"Can't! Door locked!" 

" My goodness!" said the vicar. "Andrew, 
fetch the stable lantern. Perhaps it would 
be as well to fetch another man from the 

So Andrew fetched the lantern and the 
cook's cousin, and the vicar's wife begged 
them all to be very careful. 

They went across the churchyard — it was 
quite dark now — and up the tower. And at 
the top of the tower there was a little door. 
And the door was bolted on the stair side. 

The cook's cousin, who was a gamekeeper, 
kicked at the door and said : — 

" Halloa, you there ! " 

The children were holding on to each 
other on the farther side of the door and 
trembling with anxiousness, and very hoarse 
with their howls. They could hardly speak, 
but Cyril managed to reply, huskily : — 

" Halloa, you there ! " 

" How did you get up there ? " 

It was no use saying " We flew up," so 
Cyril said : — 

" We got up, and then we found the door 
was locked and we couldn't get down. Let 
us out, do " 

" How many of you are there ? " asked the 

"Only four," said Cyril. 
K-JT iQiridi rronn 


1 12 


" Are you armed ? " 

"Are we what? H 

u IVe got my gun handy — so you'd best not 
try any tricks/' said the keeper, " If we open 
the door will you promise to come quietly 
down, and no nonsense?" 

When all the bolts were drawn the keeper 
spoke deep-chested words through the key- 

"1 don't open/ 1 said he, "till you've gone 

like, You won't believe us \ but it doesn't 
jiiatter* Oh, take us down ! " 

So they were taken down and all marched 
into the vicarage study, and the vicar's wife 
came rushing in. 

The vicar had sunk into a chair, overcome 
by emotion and amazement 

" But how did you come to be locked up 
in the church tower?" asked the vicar, 

14 We went up," said Robert, slowly, "and 


over to the side of the tower. And if one of 
you comes at me I fire* Now " 

" We're all over the other side," said the 

The keeper felt pleased with himself, and 
owned himself a bold man when he threw 
open that door and, stepping out on to the 
leads, flashed the full light of the stable 
lantern on to the group of desperadoes stand- 
ing against the parapet on the other side of 
the tower. 

He lowered his gun and he nearly dropped 
the lantern, 

" So help me," he cried, u if they ain't a 
pack of kiddies!" 

The vicar now advanced. 

"How did you come here?" he asked, 
severely. "Tell me at once/' 

"Oh, take us down/* said Jane, catching 
at his coat, "and well tell you anything you 

we were tired, and we all went to sleep, and 
when we woke up we found the door was 
locked, so we yelled/' 

" I should think you did/' said the vicar's 
wife, "frightening everybody out of their 
wits like this ! You ought to be ashamed of 

" We aw™ said Jane, gently. 

11 But who locked the door? "asked the vicar. 

" I don't know at all," snid Robert, with 
perfect truth ; " do, please, send us home/' 

"Well, really/ 3 said the vicar, "I suppose 
we'd better Andrew, put the horse to, and 
you can take them home/ 5 

So you see they got off better than they 
deserved. Only Martha was very angry and 
swept them to bed in a whirlwind of re- 
proaches. And they were condemned to 
spend the next day indoors. Only Robert — 
but that belongs to the Tale of the Castle, 

by Google 

Original from 

Vasco Peloid. 

By Arthur Inki.rsley. 

NE of the fastest and most 
exciting ball games in the 
world is Vasco Pelota, or 
s< jut.' bull. It originated in 
the .Basque provinces of Spain, 
and thence was taken to 
Brazrl and the Argentine Republic, where it 
achieved so great a popularity that the man 
who introduced it made a large fortune. 
From South America it found its way into 
Mexico , a splendid stone court being built 

wide. Walls enclose it on the two short 
sides and one of the long ones, the fourth 
side being left open. The court is of brick 
and the floor of concrete. The " frontis," or 
front wall, against which the play is directed, 
is 4ft. thick and faced with freestone, it 
having been found that brick will not stand 
the .constant battering of the ball. The long 
side wall is 35ft, high, but the front wall and 
the "rebate," or back wall, are 40IL in 
height. Above the walls for several feet is 

From n Photo, fttf Pheip» h Arit Franciteo. 

in the city of Mexico at a cost of 200,000 
.silver dollars, or about ^20 t ooo + Though 
the Mexicans are not particularly addicted 
to sport, except bull * fighting and cock- 
fighting, the game excited so much public 
interest that in eight months after play began 
the promoters are said to have recouped the 
cost of the construction of the court and to 
have gathered in a handsome profit as well. 
Courts have since been constructed in other 
Mexican cities. 

From Mexico to California is not a very 
far cry, and there has recently been com- 
pleted in San Francisco a "candia,"or court, 
which, though smaller than some of those 
in other cities, is still 208ft long and 35ft. 

wire netting. The long side wall has upon it 
white lines J 2 ^ ft. apart, which help the 
players, from their knowledge of the degree of 
skill and style of play of their opponents, to 
calculate where the ball is likely to he placed. 
The lines also help the spectators to judge 
of the merits of the various strokes inside in 
a team match 01 tournament. On the front 
wall ^ at a height of 3ft. from the floor, is a 
strip of metnl above which the ball must 
strike. On the floor of the court, at 48ft. 
and 84ft. from the fronds, lines are marked 
within which ths service, to be good, must 
be made. To the right of the court is 
a strip of ground about half as wide 
as the coui*;igindl frorfront of the spec- 




FrQtu H fknta by ft*i?r**i?r. $ni* rVrnicwfl. 

ta tors' 

seats. The players often run out 
upon this space to return balls which 
have bounded outwards* Here, too, sit the 
judges and the ball keeper. The hall keeper's 
duties will be explained later. The judges, 
on being appealed to by one of the players, 
decide the point at issue. Their derisions, 
which must be given promptly and are final, 
seem not often to be called for ; though, 
when rivalry runs high between teams and the 
sympathies of the spectators are strong, more 
dispute probably arises trmn when exhibition 
games are being played among a people un 
familiar with the game and the men. 

The **pelota," or hall, is made of fine 
rubber, with strands of thread wound round 
it f and has a double cover of chamois skin. 
It is about as large as a base-ball and weighs 
50Z In team play two or three men 
compose a team. In a team of two the 
*' delantero;' 1 or leader, covers the first 
eight rectangles of the court, the trailer, or 
"zaguero," covering the last nine. Players 
must rake the balls falling in their own 
rectangles, but during the progress of a game 
tbey may change positions, In a "quiniela/ 1 

or tournament, six or eight players generally 
take part j each man playing against the field. 
Numbers one and two play first \ the loser 
drops out, and three steps in, until all have 
had their turn. The player who scores the 
greatest number of innings wins, and the one 
who scores the next highest number gets 
" place," 

The characteristic feature of the game is 
the " chistera," a sickle-shaped implement of 
wicker-work, about jft long and 7 in, wide, 
with which the ball is played. It is fastened 
to the hand and wrist by a leather glove, and 
may be worn on either hand, but is almost 
invariably worn on the right In it the 
ball is caught, either on the volley or at 
the first rebound from the floor. Catch- 
irw the ball is called " resto* ?J The ball 
is then hurled, as though from a sling, 
against the frontis in such a manner as to 
make it as hard as possible for the opponent 
10 return it. The stroke generally employed 
is the back-hand one, the free hand being 
used to give greater force to the throw. The 
ball is hurled with surprising speed, and the 
play requires great quickness and agility. 
The definite allotment of the court to par- 

ItJLAHV Tit H-Lh'i^fe THlt BALL. 

rhobi. bff liaussJer^an Francisco, 




ftNOTUKR position rn RfiCKIVK the mall. 
From a Ptoto. bp tiavmlcr, San Frcmci*ZQ. 

ticular players renders confusion between the 
partners almost impossible- Sometimes a 
lender may volley a ball which would foil to 
the trailer if allowed to reach the floor, but 
usually he leaves the stroke to his partner. 

Before beginning an innings the ball- 
keeper offers a box containing a dozen halls 
to the player, who selects one. The leader 
of the team to which the service belongs 
shows the hall selected to the trailer of the 
opposite side, and, when the opponents have 
indicated that they are in position by saying 
" Ijesto," or ready, the leader stands at the 
qoft. base line, bounces the hall, catches it 
in his ehistera, and hurls it with sufficient 
force to rebound from the frontis and strike 
the floor between the fourth and seventh lines. 
If the ball is "short " or " long " it is void ; 
two void balls, or faults, give one point to 
the opjjosite side. Thirty points constitute 
a game. 

The players wear white duck trousers and 
rubber-soled shoes, the teams being distin- 
guished by the colour of their caps, sashes, 
shirts, or sweaters* The company now play- 
ing pelota in San Francisco consists of Senor 

A. Prido, manager ; Senor Firmin Alonzo, 
a: sistant- manager ; and eighteen players, of 
whom Firmin Yri barren is captain. 

Prom a spectator's point of view Vasco 
Pelota is a magnificent game. Instead of 
beiny shut up in a confined space, as in a 
racquet or hand -ball court, which quickly 
becomes unbearably warm and stuffy, the 
spectators sit in the open air on seats 
arranged in tiers on Lhe long side of the 
court. They can see every detail of a game 
which is exceedingly lively and interesting, 
the play being very fast and the points easily 
understood. Unlike base- ball, intercollegiate 
football, or many other games, pelota can be 
enjoyed at once by the inexpert, non-technical 
spectator. The game is exciting much 
attention in San Francisco, and, if it proves 
financially successful, will doubtless be in- 
troduced into other large cities of the United 
States, and there is no reason why it should 
not be brought to Kngland, where there are 
thousands of athletic lovers of a game like 
"Sport Vasco,' 1 which affords more violent 
and healthful exercise in a short time than 
almost any other now in vogue. 


Frvm a shot** by ri'a ui«M + , &?n Franri*H». 



[ We shall he giad to rtreme Contri&utt&rts to this section* and to pay for mch as are a€€epted!\ 

"This is a photograph of the 
Victoria Bridge, Perth, which 
crimes the River Tay* The 
northern end has been built 
through a house. A dispute 
arose as to the amount of the 
compensation to he paid for the 
bouse ; but while litigation was 
going ori the bridge was com- 
menced, built through the htmse, 
and opened, and though it has 
been open al>oiit two years the 
ends of the house still stand and 
the inierior of the rooms can l>e 
seeiu" — Mr, \\\ lhmscoiub Yal- 
lance, 23, Bromplon Square, S.W. 


Mr. Ma* I'em- 
1ierlon,the talented 
author of 1E The 
House Under the 
Sea," the last 
cha [iters of which 
appear in this issue, 
sends a remarkable 
golfing curiosity. 
The photograph 
shows a golf ball 
driven by A, 
Wyndham, Esq., 
straight on to one 
of the Westward 
Ho! rushes, which 
pierced it so (hi I 
you could hold the 
ball up by I he rush* 
It is a remarkable 
thing that a golf 
bnll, which is nearly 
as hard as wood, 
should be thus 
spiked on to the 
point "f a rush 
which is almost as 
bridle as glass. 
The photograph 
was taken by llerUrt Wolton, Esq., the well-known 
Mid -Surrey golfer. 

l< I send you a photograph of my room as it looked 
one nigh l when I came liack from class. Every Kresli- 
man must have his room 'slacked ' by the sophomores, 
so my turn canne indue course. They climbed over the 
transom and literally stacked everyihing in one 
corner of the room. Every garment had at least one 
hard knot in it, and some of them had iwu or three* 

loose in a Iiok, were scattered over the whole room. 
Six packs of playing-cards were also thrown in the 
* slack/ My tooth-brush was put in the water- 
pitcher and coal -oil was poured over it. Noihing but 
the map on the wall was left in ils place. The suckers 
hung out a sign from ihe window, 'Slack.' Of 
course, every student saw the sign and can>e up to see 
how the room looked. It was past twelve o'clock 
that night tjefurc I gut my bed down so a< to sleep on 
it* The 'stacking' is not done with any malicious 
intention ■ only for fun and pastime." — Mr. Gordon 
Stuarl f Agricultural College, Michigan. 

Over a thousand stamps I had collected, vihich were 

-• i V 3 WW 1 *J !#*■ h y Gc0T «* Ncwncs, Limited. 

digitized by v^^j^tt UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



11 This photograph apparently represents a coat 
thrown by its owner upon the branches of a tree. It 
cached its position, however, in a very peculiar 
manner, actually Vicing Mown over 500?:, by an 
t\ plosion of nuro -glycerine at Snannopin, Pennsyl- 
vania. The coat was hanging in the engine- room of 
ihe nitro-glycerine factory, ami was thrown into the 
air, yet f strange to say, not a Me was torn in it. 
Another strange freak of the explosion whs to hurl a 
piece of box cover and lodge it in the same tree 
which mi 1 > potts the coal. The explosion occurred 
in what 1* known as the mUmg-house, which was 
torn into pieces the sUe of kindling wood*" — 
Mr. D Allan Willey, Baltimore, 


* 4 This rather odd photograph is that of a 

cast taken by a demist of Bordeaux of his 

own nose ami face, and sent to me for the 

purpose, of fining eyeglasses to his nose. 

Rather an ingenious idea and a very good 
substitute, since the man could not come 
to Paris hiimclt"— Mr E, B. Meymwiiz, 
Optician, 3, Rue Scribe, Paris. 

14 This photograph is apparently one uf the crescent 
moon through u telescope ; in reality, however, 
it is a photograph of a lawn -tennis hall fixed against 
a Mack piece of cloth in a dark room, the light 
Wing caused hy 
burning a piece 
of mag nes i 11 10 
wire, which must 
be kept in one 
place. By alter- 
ing the position 
of I he light a full, 
half, or descent 
in o o n can be 
taken. The rough- 
ness of a tennis- 
I Kill cover is about 
equivalent to the 
formation of the 
surface of : h e 
m non , and the 
inequalities of the 
Han n el present 
a. curiously exact 
likeness 10 the 
appearance of the 
volcanic ranges 
as seen through 
a telescope of 
moderate mag- 
nifying power. : ' — 
Mr. C. S- Lawrence, 

Willey Road, St an stead, 

" The white streak across the bitiom half of Ihis 
pholc. ba donkey's ear ; the ohjeel at the end of il is 
a camel ladcned with dry ?*ikks. I photographed the 
enclo-ed picture whilst on the back of a donkey, 
intending to take the back view of a laden camel, 
but the donkey moved his ear, thus causing ihis 
extraordinary photo." — Mr. Malcolm Campbell, 
Northwood, Chislehurst, Kent, 

by Google 




property of Paulet Si. [uhn, Esq,, that in the month 
r>f September, 1 733^ leaped into a chalk-pit 25ft. 
deep a-fuxhunling with his master on his hack* And 
in October, 1734, he won the Elunteis* Plate on 
Worthy Downs, and was rode hy his owner and 
catered in the name of*' Beware Chalk Rl w b Thai 
this inscription is slill to be seen is due lo the fact of 
its renewal in 1 870 hy the Right Horn Sir William 
[lealhcote, Baronet."— Mr* iL C. Shelley, Carlton 
Lodge, Talmerston Road, Bowes Park, \ t 

"Tim photograph is a portrait of little Elmer 
Clayton, son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Clayton, of 
Los Angeles, who is surely one of the tiniest of living 
babies. He is healthy and lively, and at the age of 
trt.j weeks weighed an ounce over two pounds, having 
trained a little over half a pound since birth. The 
pic in re shows him 
cuddled into a small 
dinner-plate, snugly as 
you please. The like- 
ness of so dainty a 
gentleman may lie of 
interest 10 your * Curi- 
osities' readers." — Mr, 
John L. Von Rlon, Los 
Angeles, California. 

"The eyes of insects may be descril>ed as hemi^ 
spheres placed on each side of the head. The reason 
for this shape ivill be evident when we consider Ihe 
difference existing lie I ween these and the eyes of the 
human subject* In man the eyes arc adjustable, by 
their muscles, so as to traverse an angle of vision of 
some 6odeg. to Sodeg. The mechanism by which, 

"There are many 
monuments to horses 
scattered over Eng- 
land, but it is ques- 
tionable whether any 
one of them can 
compete with that at 
Farley, Hampshire, in 
usefulness. Standing 
on the summit of a 
mound, which in itself 
is at a high elevation, 
the Farley Horse 
Monument has been a 
conspicuous landmark 
for many generations* 
There is a chamber inside the monument, and an 
inscription on the wall tells all ihat is known about 
the structure : * Underneath lies buried a horse, the 

this is effected in man is entirely absent in insects, 
but is compensated for by a hemispherical arrange- 
ment of numerous lenses situated on the convexity of 
the cornea. This is well shown 
in the accompanying photo-micro* 
graph of a vertical sect ton ot the 
eye of a dragon fly. The lenses 
occupy the centres of hexagonal 
depressions within the eorneae, 
and csch transmits an image of 
the surrounding scene, but not in 
a multiform character* as the 
images received are carried by the 
optical rods wiihin the eye and 
arc received as one image by the 
retina and are united in one 
conception. This hemispherical 
arrangement of the lenses allows 
the insect a wide range of vision, 
a provision doubtless favourable 
to vigilance. As a proof of this I" 
enclose the portrait — or should I 
say portraits?— nfa gentleman re- 
flected through ihe corneal lenses 
. of a l»eetle." — Mr, T, Charters 
IfWniiePfe'Q, Belgrave Koad, S- W. 




** I send yon a photograph of my old brown 
retriever dog, Shot, who was twenty -two years old 
Jast January. He has not missed a shooting season 
for many, many years, and his nose is absolutely as 
good as ever it whs, if not herier. He is very 
slightly afTecied in his sight, hut absolutely deaf as a 
post, ami works hy signs from me only, as I 
fortunately always taught him to do> He is the 
cleverest dog imaginable at all sorls of shooting, and 
in the photo., which I took on his birthday in 
January last after shooting, y m sec him surrounded 
by the duck, snipe, and golden plover, and I mny 
mention that he picked me up thirty -three grouse at 

one drive two years 
ago only, so you see 
he is as active as he 
looks, "— Ca j >l a i n E . 
P. Brooke, Kaveus- 
Craig, Conway, 
North Wales- 

the hitman 

" This interesting 
photo, is (lit inven- 
tion of Mr. Jack 
Lynn, the well- 
known society en- 
tertainer and eldest 
son of the famous 
Dr. Lynn. The 
telescojKr is in two 
pans, and is fas- 
tened by an ordinary 
leather belt to any 
pet son or thing. By 
{retting the front and 
bnck jwrls in line, 
one is able to see 
perfectly light 
1I1 n nigh the obstacle 
and to focus and 
use the instrument 
as an ordinary tele- 
scope ; in fac t , 
objects are seen 
more distinctly 
when a block of stone or other opaque sol stance 
intervenes. This telescope wos awarded the 
diploma at the Liven I ions Exhibition, April, 
jojoi/*— Mr. A- C- Lam be, 207, High Street, Stoke 
Xewington, N- 


VThe nest shown m the accompany- 
ing photograph is a wonderful curiosity 
for two reasons: the Locality in which 
it was found and the material of which 
it was constructed, A party of officers 
and men from one of the ships on I he 
South African -station went to visit the 
w reck of 1 1 . M . S. Aj 4 iik ( w h ich , it w ill 
be rememl>ered p was wrecked off Lam- 
bert's Bay, on the south-west coast of 
Africa, about a year ago). One of the 
officers* who had climbed up into the 
* look - out * at the mast ■ head, found 
there a cormorant's (Pkaiaaworax 
nigra) nest containing five eggs. On 
closer ins] feet ion the nest was seen to 
Lie made up of bits of sea- weed firmly 
hound tfigether and in lei woven with 
Cordage and stout steel- wire from the rigging. The 
nest and eggs are being sent toil London museum," 

Photo, by Alfred Moysey, Fsrp, K.N. — Staff- 
Surgeon C. Mar^h Rendu el I, I [.M.S. Part a(&ttfa y 
Simons Bay , S + A, 

by Google 

" Heie is a striking example of tropical gmwlh, 
l>eing a creeper from a West African jungle, which 
had so entwined itself around a tree that the life was 
strangled out of 
the tatter. There 
is now a hollow 
within the cun- 
volute creeper, 
and no remains 
of the tree M,hich 
served as support 
in the first in- 
stance. The huge 
size of the creeper 
is also remark- 
able, as may be 
judged l»y Com- 
paring it with the 
{.hair on which it 
standi**— Mr, C. 
S . Sargisson, 
" Client horn," 
Hirensham I [ill, 
Muse ley, Birming- 

Original from 



Curl; is, perhaps, the must difficult substance in 
the world to lend itself to the knife t*T the sculptor. 
The above beautiful carving in this material occupied 
the artist for a period of four weeks, and was 
designed and executed to the order of Mr. John 
Smith, cork merchant, of Aberdeen- It is generally 
conceded to be one of the most beautiful cork 
pictures in the world, and depicts the Brig of 
Balgownie, which crosses the River Don, in Abet- 
{teen shire, and which has been immortal lied by 
Byron in the famous lines : — 

lirig o Ftatgoifc'tiie, iilack as your wa", 

A m&re'tf a faal t a rn Libers n son N 
Doon ye shall Ik** 
That prophecy has never be. en fulfilled, however, 
for the bridge still stands its ground and remains one 
of the prettiest places in Aberdeen. The above 
picture coikiprLitrs thousands of cork filings. 


14 This table is one of the greatest curiosities from 

the lime of the Grand Lmperor, who had it in his 

study at the Castle of St. Cloud, After the death of 

Napoleon it was bought in London by Baron 

Rehausen, Swedish Ambassador to the Conn of Sl 
James at that time. It is now owned through 
inheritance by one of the foremost families of the 
Swedish nobility. Inside the drawer of the table is 
pasted an old slip on which is printed a description, 
which in modernized English reads as follows : * The 
Km pern r Napoleon was highly delighted with this 
extraordinary work of art. It formed the surface of 
one of the tables in his study , and was always shown 
to all foreigners of distinction who visited the 
Imperial Court* It is a painting, whose resem- 
blance In what it represents is the most illusive ever 
produced by the genius of man. One may look at 
this strange production of art in different lights — the 
pieces of money, the fragment of broken glass, the 
pen -knife, water, and enrds retain an equally illusive 
appearance as the observer moves round the table — 
but it requires a very minute examination to discover 
all the truly magical wonders it possesses/ In these 
times, when relics of Napoleon L are eagerly sought 
for, the present whereabouts and the picture of this 
ii] aster piece should certainly interest all connoisseurs. 1 * 
— Mr, Alfred Lindgren, care of Aktiebohgsij 
Nordiska Kredilbankerk Stockholm. 


C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 



(Su fag* 125.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxiv. 

AUGUST, 1902. 

No. 140. 

How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

y ^» 

T was the old Brigadier who 
was talking in the caf& 

I have seen a great many 
cities, my friends. I would 
not dare to tell you how many 
I have entered as a conqueror with eight 
hundred of my little fighting devils clank- 
ing and jingling behind me. The cavalry 
were in front of the Grande Armde, and 
the Hussars of Conflans were in front of 
the cavalry, and I was in front of the Hussars. 
But of all the cities which we visited Venice 
is the most ill-built and ridiculous. I cannot 
imagine how the people who laid it out 
thought that the cavalry could manoeuvre. 
It would puzzle Murat or Lassalle to bring a 
squadron into that square of theirs. For this 
reason we left Kellermann's heavy brigade 
and also my own Hussars at Padua on the 
mainland. But Suchet with the infantry held 
the town, and he had chosen me as his aide- 
de-camp for that winter, because he was 
pleased about the affair of the Italian fencing- 
master at Milan. The fellow was a good 
swordsman, and it was fortunate for the 
credit of French arms that it was I who was 
opposed to him. Besides, he deserved a 
lesson, for if one does not like a prima donna } s 
singing one can always be silent, but it is 
intolerable that a public affront should be put 
upon a pretty woman. So the sympathy was 
all with me, and after the affair had blown 
over and the man's widow had been pen- 
sioned Suchet chose me as his own galloper, 
and I followed him to Venice, where I had 
the strange adventure which I am about to 
tell you. 

You have not been to Venice ? No, for 
it is seldom that the French travel. We 
were great travellers in those days. From 

Moscow to Cairo we had travelled every- 
where, but we went in larger parties than 
were convenient to those whom we visited, 
and we carried our passports in our limbers. 
It will be a bad day for Europe when the 
French start travelling again, for they are 
slow to leave their homes, but when they 
have done so no one can say how far they 
will go if they have a guide like our little 
man to point out the way. But the great 
days are gone and the great men are dead, 
and here am I, the last of them, drinking 
wine of Suresnes and telling old tales in a 

But it is of Venice that I would speak. 
The folk there live like water-rats upon a 
mud-bank, but the houses are very fine, 
and the churches, especially that of St 
Mark, are as great as any I have seen. 
But above all they are proud of their 
statues and their pictures, which are the 
most famous in Europe. There are many 
soldiers who think that because one's 
trade is to make war one should never have 
a thought above fighting and plunder. There 
was old Bouvet, for example — the one who 
was killed by the Prussians on the day that I 
won the Emperor's medal ; if you took him 
away from the camp and the canteen, and 
spoke to him of books or of art, he would 
sit and stare at you. But the highest soldier 
is a man like myself who can understand the 
things of the mind and the soul. It is true 
that I was very young when I joined the 
army, and that the quarter-master was my 
only teacher, but if you go about the world 
with your eyes open you cannot help learn- 
ing a great deal. 

Thus I was able to admire the pictures 
in Venice, and to know the names of the 
great men, Michael Titicns, and Angelus, 






and the others, who had painted them. No 
one can say that Napoleon did not admire 
them also, for the very first thing which he 
did when he captured the town was to send 
the best of them to Paris. We all took what 
we could get, and I had two pictures for my 
share. One of them, called "Nymphs 
Surprised," I kept for myself, and the other, 
"Saint Barbara," I sent lis a present for my 

It must be confessed, however, that some 
of our men behaved very badly in this matter 
of the statues and the pictures. The people 
at Venice were very much attached to them, 
and as to the four bronze horses which stood 
over the gate of their great church, they 
loved them as dearly as if they had been 
their children* I have always been a judge 
of a horse, and I had a good look at these 
ones, but I could ndt see that there was 
much to be said for them. They were too 
coarse-limbed for light cavalry chargers and 
they had not the weight for the gun-teams* 
However, they were the only four horses, 
alive or dead, in the whole town, so it was 

Digitized by GOOglC 

not to be expected that 
the people would know 
any better They wept 
bitterly when they were 
sent away, and ten 
French soldiers w r ere 
found floating in the 
canals that night. As 
a punishment for these 
murders a great many 
more of their pictures 
were sent away, and 
the soldiers took to 
breaking the statues 
and firing their muskets 
at the stained-glass 
windows. This made 
the people furious, and 
there was very bad 
feeling in the town. 
Many officers and 
men disappeared 
during that winter, 
and even their 
bodies were never 
** found. 

For myself I 
had plenty to do, 
and I never found 
the time heavy on 
iny hands. In 
every country it 
has been m y 
custom to try to 
learn the language* For this reason I 
always look round for some lady who will be 
kind enough to teach it to me, and then we 
practise it together* This is the most 
interesting way of picking it up, and before 
I was thirty I could speak nearly every 
tongue in Europe ; but it must be confessed 
that what you learn is not of much use for 
the ordinary purposes of life. My business, 
for example, has usually been with soldiers 
and peasants, and what advantage is it to be 
able to say to them that I love only them, 
and that I will come back w T hen the wars are 
over ? 

Never have I had so sweet a teacher as in 
Venice, Lucia was her first name, and her 
second — but a gentleman forgets second 
names. I can say this with all discretion, 
that she was of one of the senatorial families 
of Venice and that her grandfather had been 
Doge of the town. She was of an exquisite 
beauty— and when I, Etienne Gerard, use 
such a word as " exquisite," my friends, it 
has a meaning. I have judgment, I have 
memories, I have the means of comparison* 




Of all the women who have loved me there 
are not twenty to whom I could apply such a 
term as that. But I say again that Lucia 
was exquisite. Of the dark type I do not 
recall her equal unless it were Dolores of 
Toledo. There was a little brunette whom 
I loved at Santarem when I was soldiering 
under Massena in Portugal — her name has 
escaped me. She was of a perfect beauty, 
but she had not the figure nor the grace of 
Lucia. There was Agnes also. I could not 
put one before the other, but I do none an 
injustice when I say that Lucia was the equal 
of the best. 

It was over-this matter of pictures that I 
had first met her, for her father owned a 
palace on the farther side of the Rialto 
Bridge upon the Grand Canal, and it was 
so packed with wall-paintings that Suchet 
sent a party of sappers to cut some of them 
out and send them to Paris. I had gone 
down with them, and after I had seen 
Lucia in -tears it appeared to me that the 
plaster would crack if it were taken from the 
support of the wall. I said so, and the 
sappers were withdrawn. After that I was 
the friend of the family, and many a flask of 
Chianti have I cracked with the father and 
many a sweet lesson have I had from the 
daughter. Some of our French officers 
married in Venice that winter, and I might 
have done the same, for I loved her with all 
my heart ; but Etienne Gerard has his 
sword, his horse, his regiment, his mother, 
his Emperor, and his career. A debonair 
Hussar has room in his life for love, but none 
for a wife. So I thought then, my friends, 
but I did not see the lonely days when I 
should long to clasp those vanished hands, 
and turn my head away when I saw old com- 
rades with their tall children standing round 
their chairs. This love which I had thought 
was a joke and a plaything — it is only now 
that I understand that it is the moulder of 
one's life, the most solemn and sacred of all 
things. . - - Thank you, my friend, thank 
you ! It is a good wine, and a second bottle 
cannot hurt. 

And now I will tell you how my love for 
Lucia was the cause of one of the most 
terrible of all the wonderful adventures which 
have ever befallen me, and how it was that I 
came to lose the top of my right ear. You 
have often asked me why it was missing. To- 
night for the first time I will tell you. 

Suchet's head-quarters at that time was 
the old palace of the Doge Dandolo, which 
stands on the lagoon not far from the place 
of San Marco* It was near the end of the 

winter, and I had returned one night from 
the Theatre Goldini, when I found a note 
from Lucia and a gondola waiting. She 
prayed me to come to her at once as she was 
in trouble. To a Frenchman and a soldier 
there was but one answer to such a note. 
In an instant I was in the boat and the 
gondolier was pushing out into the dark 
lagoon. I remember that as I took my seat 
in the boat I was struck by the man's great 
size. He was not tall, but he was one of 
the broadest men that I have ever seen in 
my life. But the gondoliers of Venice are 
a strong breed, and powerful men are 
common enough among them. The fellow 
took his place behind me and began to row. 
A good soldier in an enemy's country 
should everywhere and at all times be on 
the alert. It has been one of the rules of 
my life, and if I have lived to wear grey 
hairs it is because I have observed it. And 
yet upon that night I was as careless as a 
foolish young recruit who fears lest he should 
be thought to be afraid. My pistols I had 
left behind in my hurry. My sword was at 
my belt, but it is not always the most con- 
venient of weapons. I lay back in my 
seat in the gondola, lulled by the gentle 
swish of the water and the steady creak- 
ing of the oar. Our way lay through 
a network of narrow canals with high 
houses towering on either side and a thin 
slit of star-spangled sky above us. Here 
and there, on the bridges which spanned the 
canal, there was the dim glimmer of an oil 
lamp, and sometimes there came a gleam 
from some niche where a candle burned 
before the image of a saint. But save for 
this it was all black, and one could only see 
the water by the white fringe which curled 
round the long black nose of our boat. It 
was a place and a time for dreaming. I 
thought of my own past life, of all the great 
deeds in which I had been concerned, of the 
horses that I had handled, and of the women 
that I had loved. Then I thought also of 
my dear mother, and I fancied her joy when 
she heard the folk in the village talking about 
the fame of her son. Of the Emperor also 
I thought, and of France, the dear father- 
land, the sunny France, mother of beautiful 
daughters and of gallant sons. My heart 
glowed within me as I thought of how we 
had brought her colours so many hundred 
leagues beyond her borders. To her great- 
ness I would dedicate my life. I placed my 
hand upon my heart as I swore it, and at 
that instant the gondolier fell upon me from 





When I say that he fell upon me I do not 
mean merely that he attacked me, but that 
he really did tumble upon me with all his 
weight. The fellow stands behind you and 
above you as he rows, so that you can neither 
see him nor can you in any way guard 
against such an assault. One moment I had 
sat with my mind filled with sublime resolu- 
tions, the next I was flattened out upon the 
bottom of the boat, the breath dashed out of 
my body, and this monster pinning me down. 
I felt the fierce pants of his hot breath upon 
the back of my neck, In an instant he had 
torn away my sword, had slipped a sack over 
my head, and had tied a rope firmly round 
the outside of it. There I was at the bottom 
of the gondola as helpless as a trussed fowl 
I could not shout, I could not move ; I was a 

Digitized by G* 

mere bundle. An in- 
stant later I heard once 
more the swishing of the 
water and the creaking 
of the oar, This fellow 
had done his work and 
had resumed his journey 
as quietly and uncon^ 
cernedly as if he were 
accustomed to dap a 
sack over a colonel of 
Hussars every day of 
the week. 

I cannot tell you the 
humiliation and also the 
fury which filled my 
mind as I lay there like 
a helpless sheep being 
carried to the butcher's. 
I t Ettenne Gerard, the 
champion of the six 
brigades of light cavalry 
and the first swordsman 
of the Grand Army, to 
be overpowered by a 
single unarmed man in 
such a fashion ! Vet I 
lay quiet, for there is a 
time to resist and there 
is a time to save ones 
strength. I had felt the 
fellow's grip upon my 
arms, and 1 knew that 
I would be a child in 
his hands. I waited 
quietly, therefore, with a 
heart which burned with 
rage, until my oppor- 
tunity should come, 

How long I lay there 
at the bottom of the 
boat I cannot tell ; but it seemed to me to 
be a long time, and always there were the hiss 
of the waters and the steady creaking of the 
oar. Several times we turned corners, for I 
heard the long, sad cry which these gondo- 
liers give when they wish to warn their fellows 
that they are coming. At last, after a con- 
siderable journey, I felt the side of the boat 
scrape up against a landing-place. The fellow 
knocked three times with his oar upon wood, 
and in answer to his summons I heard tho 
rasping of bars and the turning of keys. A 
great door creaked back upon its hinges. 

" Have you got him?" asked a voice, in 

My monster ^avc a laugh and kicked the 
sack in which 1 lay, 

" Here he is>." said he. 
Original from 





11 They are waiting." He added something 
which I could not understand. 

" Take him, then," said mv captor. He 
raised me in his arms, ascendea some steps, 
and I was thrown down upon a hard floor. 
A moment later the bars creaked and the 
key whined once more. I was a prisoner 
inside a house. 

From the voices and the steps there 
seemed now to be several people round me. 
I understand Italian a great deal better than 
I speak it, and I could make out very well 
what they were saying. 

" You have not killed him, Matteo ? " 
" What matter if I have ? " 
" My faith, you will have to answer for it 
to the tribunal." 

** They will kill him, will they not ? " 
" Yes, but it is not for you or me to take 
it out of their hands." 

" Tut ! I have not killed him. Dead men 
do not bite, and his cursed teeth met in my 
thumb as I pulled the sack over his head." 
" He lies very quiet" 

" Tumble him out and you will find he is 
lively enough." 

The cord which bound me was undone 
and the sack drawn from over my head. 
With my eyes closed I lay motionless upon 
the floor. 

"By the saints, Matteo, I tell you that 
you have broken his neck." 

"Not I. He has only fainted. The 
better for him if he never came out of it 

I felt a hand within my tunic. 
" Matteo is right," said a voice. " His 
heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and 
he will soon find his senses." 

I waited for a minute or so and then I 
ventured to take a stealthy peep from between 
my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I 
had been so long in darkness and it was but 
a dim light in which I found myself. Soon, 
however, I made out that a^high and vaulted 
ceiling covered with painted gods and 
goddesses was arching over my head. This 
was no mean den of cut-throats into which I 
had been carried, but it must be the hall of 
some Venetian palace. Then, without move- 
ment, very slowly and stealthily I had a peep 
at the men who surrounded me. There was 
the gondolier, a swart, hard-faced, murderous 
ruffian, and beside him were three other 
men, one of them a little, twistefd fellow with 
an air of authority and several keys in his 
hand, the other two tall young servants in a 
smart livery. As I listened to their talk I 
saw that the small man was the steward of 

Digitized by ^OOgle 

the house, and that the others were under 
his orders. 

There were four of them, then, but the 
little steward might be left out of the 
reckoning. Had I a weapon I should have 
smiled at such odds as those. But, hand 
to hand, I was no match for the one even 
without three others to aid him. Cunning, 
then, not force, must be my aid. I wished 
to look round for some mode of escape, 
and in doing so I gave an almost imper- 
ceptible movement of my head. Slight as it 
was it did not escape my guardians. 

" Come, wake up, wake up ! " cried the 

"Get on your feet, little Frenchman," 
growled the gondolier. " Get up, I say ! " 
and for the second time he spurned me with 
his foot. 

Never in the world was a command obeyed 
so promptly as that one. In an instant I had 
bounded to my feet and rushed as hard as I 
could run to the back of the hall. They 
were after me as I have seen the English 
hounds follow a fox, but there was a long 
passage down which I tore. It turned to the 
left and again to the left, and then I found 
myself back in the hall once more. They were 
almost within touch of me and there was no 
time for thought. I turned towards the stair- 
case, but two men were coming down it I 
dodged back and tried the door through 
which I had been brought, but it was fastened 
with great bars and I could not loosen them. 
The gondolier was on me with his knife, 
but I met him with a kick on the body which 
stretched him on his back. His dagger flew 
with a clatter across the marble floor. I had 
no time to seize it, for there were half-a-dozen 
of them now clutching at me. As I rushed 
through them the little steward thrust his leg 
before me and I fell with a crash, but I 
was up in an instant, and breaking from their 
grasp I burst through the very middle of 
them and made for a door at the other end 
of the hall. I reached it well in front of 
them, and I gave a shout of triumph as the 
handle turned freely in my hand, for I could 
see that it led to the outside and that all was 
clear for my escape. But I had forgotten 
this strange city in which I was. Every 
house is an island. As I flung open the 
door, ready to bound out into the street, the 
light of the hall shone upon the deep, still, 
black water which lay flush with the topmost 
step. I shrank back, and in an instant my 
pursuers were on me. But I am not taken 
so easily. Again I kicked and fought my 
way through them, though one of them tore 




a handful of hair from my head in his effort 
to hold me. The little steward struck me 
with a key and I was battered and bruised, 
but once more I cleared a way in front of 
me. Up the grand staircase I ru?hed, burst 
open the pair of huge folding doors which 
faced me, and learned at last that my efforts 
were in vain. 

The room into which I had broken was 
brilliantly lighted, 
Wuh its gold cor- 
nices, its massive 
pillars, and its 
painted walls and 
ceilings it was evi- 
dently the grand 
hall of some famous 
Venetian palace 
There are many 
hundred such in 
this strange city, any 
one of which has 
rooms which would 
grace the Louvre or 
Versailles* In the 
centre of this great 
hall there was a 
raised dais, and 
upon it in a half 
circle there sat 
twelve men all clad 
in black gowns, like 
those of a Fran- 
ciscan monk, and 
each with a mask 
over the upper part 
of his face. A 
group of armed 
men — rough -look- 
ing rascals — were 
standing round the 
door, and amid 
them facing the dais 
was a young fellow 
in the uniform of 
the light infantry. 
As he turned his 
head I recognised 
him* It was Cap- 
tain Auret, of the 
7th, a young Basque 
with whom I had 
drunk many a glass 
during the winter. 
He was deadly white, poor wretch, but he 
held himself manfully amid the assassins who 
surrounded him. Never shall 1 forget the 
sudden flash of hope which shone in his dark 
eyes when he saw a comrade burst into the 

Digitized by Lt* 

room, or the look of despair which followed 
as he understood that I had come not to 
change his fate but to share it, 

You can think how amazed these people 
were when I hurled myself into their pre- 
sence. My pursuers had crowded in behind 
me and choked the doorway, so that all 
further flight was out of the question. It is 
at such instants that my nature asserts itself. 


With dignity I advanced towards the tribunal 
My jacket was torn, my hair was dishevelled, 
my head was bleeding, but there was that in 
my eyes and in my carriage which made 
them realize that no common man was before 




them. Not a hand was raised to arrest me 
until I halted in front of a formidable old 
man whose long grey beard and masterful 
manner told me that both by years and by 
character he was the man in authority. 

" Sir/' said I, " you will, perhaps, tell me 
why I have been forcibly arrested and 
brought to this place. I am an honourable 
soldier, as is this other gentleman here, and 
I demand that you will instantly set us both 
at liberty." 

There was an appalling silence to my 
appeal. It is not pleasant to have twelve 
masked faces turned upon you and to see 
twelve pairs of vindictive Italian eyes fixed 
with fierce intentness upon your face. But 
I stood as a debonair soldier should, and I 
could not but reflect how much credit I was 
bringing upon the Hussars of Con flans by 
the dignity of my bearing. I do not think 
that anyone could have carried himself better 
under such difficult circumstances. I looked 
with a fearless face from one assassin to 
another, and I waited for some reply. 

It was the greybeard who at last broke the 

" Who is this man ? " he asked. 

** His name is Gerard," said the little 
steward at the door. 

" Colonel Gerard/' said I. " I will not 
deceive you. I am Etienne Gerard, the 
Colonel Gerard, five times mentioned in 
despatches and recommended for the sword 
of honour. I am aide-de-camp to General 
Suchet, and I demand my instant release, 
together with that of my comrade in arms." 

The same terrible silence fell upon the 
assembly, and the same twelve pairs of merci- 
less eyes were bent upon my face. Again it 
was the greybeard who spoke. 

" He is out of his order. There are two 
names upon our list before him." 

** He escaped from our hands and burst 
into the room." 

w Let him await his turn. Take him 
down to the wooden cell." 

" If he resist us, your excellency ? " 

** Bury your knives in his body. The 
tribunal will uphold you. Remove him 
until we have dealt with the others." 

They advanced upon me, and for an instant 
I thought of resistance. It would have been 
a heroic death, but who was there to see it 
or to chronicle it? I might be only post- 
poning my fate, and yet I had been in so 
many bad places and come out unhurt that 
I had learned always to hope and to trust 
my star. I allowed these rascals to seize 
me, and I was led from the room, the 

gondolier walking at my side with a long 
naked knife in his hand. I could see in his 
brutal eyes the satisfaction which it would 
give him if he could find some excuse for 
plunging it into my body. 

They are wonderful places, these great 
Venetian houses, palaces and fortresses and 
prisons all in one. I was led along a passage 
and down a bare stone stair until we came 
to a short corridor from which three doors 
opened. Through one of these I was thrust 
and the spring lock closed behind me. The 
only light came dimly through a small 
grating which opened on the passage. Peer- 
ing and feeling, I carefully examined the 
chamber in which I had been placed. I 
understood from what I had heard that I 
should soon have to leave it again in order 
to appear before this tribunal, but still it is 
not my nature to throw away any possible 

The stone floor of the cell was so damp 
and the walls for some feet high were so 
slimy and foul that it was evident they 
were beneath the level of the water. A 
single slanting hole high up near the ceiling 
was the only aperture for light or air. 
Through it I saw one bright star shining 
down upon me, and the sight filled me with 
comfort and with hope. I have never been 
a man of religion, though I have always had 
a respect for those who were, but I remem- 
ber that night that the star shining down the 
shaft seemed to be an all-seeing eye which 
was upon me, and I felt as a young and 
frightened recruit might feel in battle when 
he saw the calm gaze of his colonel turned 
upon him. 

Three of the sides of my prison were 
formed of stone, but the fourth was of wood, 
and I could see that it had only recently 
been erected. Evidently a partition had 
been thrown up to divide a single large cell 
into two smaller ones. There was no hope 
for me in the old walls, in the tiny window, 
or in the massive door. It was only in this 
one direction of the wooden screen that there 
was any possibility of exploring. My reason 
told me that if I should pierce it — which did 
not seem very difficult --it would only be to 
find myself in another cell as strong as that 
in which I then was. Yet I had always 
rather be doing something than doing no- 
thing, so I bent all my attention and all my 
energies upon the wooden wall. Two planks 
were badly joined, and so loose that I was 
certain I could easily detach them. I 
searched about for some tool, and I found 
one in the leg of a small bed which stood in 




the corner. I forced the end of this into 
the chink of the planks, and I was about to 
twist them outwards when the sound of rapid 
footsteps caused me to pause and to listen. 

I wish I could forget what I heard. Many 
a hundred men have I seen die in battle, and 
I have slain more myself than I care to think 
of, but all that was fair fight and the duty of 
a soldier. It was a very different matter to 
listen to a murder in this den of assassins. 
They were pushing someone along the 
passage, someone who resisted and who 
clung to my door as he passed. They must 
have taken him into the third cell, the one 
which was farthest from me. " Help ! 
Help ! " cried a voice, and then I heard a 
blow and a scream. " Help ! Help ! " cried 
the voice again, and then ** Gerard! Colonel 
Gerard!" It was 
my poor cap- 
tain of infantry 
whom they were 
1 yelled, and I 
kicked at my 
door, but again I 
heard him shout 
and then every- 
thing was silent 
A minute later 
there was a heavy 
splash, and I 
knew that no 
human eye would 
ever see Auret 
again. He had 
gone as a hun- 
dred others had 
gone whose 
names were miss- 
ing from the roll- 
calls of their 
regiments during 
that winter in 

The steps re- 
turned along the 
passage, and I 
thought that they 
were coming for 
me. Instead of 

that they opened the door of the cell next 
to mine and they took someone out of it, 
I heard the steps die away up the stair. At 
once I renewed my work upon the planks, 
and within a very few minutes I had 
loosened them in such a way that I could 

Digitized by Gt 

remove and replace them at pleasure. Pass- 
ing through the aperture I found "myself in 
the farther cell, which, as I expected, was the 
other half of the one in which 1 had been 
confined. I was not any nearer to escape" 
than I had been before, for there was no other 
wooden wall which I could penetrate and the 
spring lock of the door had been closed. There 
were no traces to show who was my com- 
panion in misfortune. Closing the two loose 
planks behind me I returned to my own cell 
and waited there with all the courage which I 
could command for the summons which 
would probably be my death-knell. 

It was a long time in coming, bat at last 
I heard the sound of feet once more in the 
passage, and I nerved myself to listen to 
some other odious deed and to hear the cries 

of the poor 
victim. Nothing 
of the kind 
occurred, how- 
ever, and the 
prisoner was 
placed in the cell 
without violence, 
I had no time to 
peep through my 
hole of commu- 
nication, for next 
moment my own 
door was flung 
open and my 
rascally gondo- 
lier, with the 
other assassins, 
came into the 

"Come, French- 
man," said he. 
He held his 
blood - stained 
knife in his great 
hairy hand, and 
I read in his 
fierce eyes that 
he only looked 
for some ex- 
cuse in order 
to plunge it 
into my heart 
Resista nee 
was useless. I 
followed without a word* I was led up 
the stone stair and back into that gorgeous 
chamber in which I had left the secret 
tribunal. I was ushered in, but to my 
surprise it was not on me that their attention 
was fixed. One of their own number, a tall^ 





dark young man, was standing before them 
and was pleading with them in low, earnest 
tones. His voice quivered with anxiety and 
his hands darted in and out or writhed to- 
gether in an agony of entreaty. " You cannot 
do it ! You cannot do it ! " he cried. " I 
implore the tribunal to reconsider this 
decision. " 

" Stand aside, brother," said the old man 
wfco presided. "The case is decided and 
another is up for judgment" 

** For Heaven's sake be merciful ! " cried 
the young man. 

" We have already been merciful," the 
other answered. " Death would have been 
a small penalty for such an offence. Be 
silent and let judgment take its course." 

I saw the young man throw himself in an 
agony of grief into his chair. I had no time, 
however, to speculate as to what it was 
which was troubling him, for his eleven 
colleagues had already fixed their stern eyes 
upon me. The moment of fate had arrived. 
"You are Colonel Gerard?" said the 
terrible old man. 
" I am." 

"Aide-de-camp to the robber wl\o calls 
himself General Suchet, who in turn repre- 
sents that arch-robber Buonaparte ? " 

It was on my lips to tell him that he was 
a liar, but there is a time to argue and a 
time to be silent. 

" I am an honourable soldier," said I. " I 
have obeyed my orders and done my duty." 

The blood flushed into the old man's face 
and his eyes blazed through his mask. 

" You are thieves and murderers, every 
man of you," he cried. "What are you 
doing here? You are Frenchmen. Why 
are you not in France ? Did we invite you 
to Venice? By what right are you here? 
Where are our pictures? Where are the 
horses of St. Mark? Who are you that 
you should pilfer those treasures which our 
fathers through so many centuries have 
collected ? We were a great city when France 
was a desert. Your drunken, brawling, 
ignorant soldiers have undone the work of 
saints and heroes. What have you to say 
to it ? " 

He was, indeed, a formidable old man, for 
his white beard bristled with fury and he 
harked out the little sentences like a savage 
hound. For my part I could have told him 
that his pictures would be safe in Paris, that 
his horses were really not worth making a 
fuss about, and that he could see heroes — I 
say nothing of saints — without going back 
to his ancestors or even moving out of his 

Digitized by OOOQ lC 

chair. All this I could have pointed out, 
but one might as well argue with a Mama- 
luke about religion. I shrugged my shoulders 
and said nothing. 

"The prisoner has no defence," said one 
of my masked judges. 

" Has anyone any observation to make 
before judgment is passed ? " The old man 
glared round him at the others. 

"There is one matter, your excellency," 
said another. " It can scarce be referred to 
without re-opening a brother's wounds, but I 
would remind you that there is a very par- 
ticular reason why an exemplary punishment 
should be inflicted in the case of this officer." 

" I had not forgotten it," the old man 
answered. " Brother, if the tribunal has 
injured you in one direction, it will give you 
ample satisfaction in another." 

The young man who had been pleading 
when I entered the room staggered to his 

" I cannot endure it," he cried. " Your 
excellency must forgive me. The tribunal 
can act without me. I am ill. I am mad." 
He flung his hands out with a furious gesture 
and rushed from the room. 

" Let him go ! Let him go ! " said the 
president. " It is, indeed, more than can be 
asked of flesh and blood that he should 
remain under this roof. But he is a true 
Venetian, and when the first agony is over 
he will understand that it could not be 

I had been forgotten during this episode, 
and though I am not a man who is accus- 
tomed to being overlooked I should have 
been all the happier had they continued to 
neglect me. But now the old president 
glared at me again like a tiger who conies 
back to his victim. 

" You shall pay for it all, and it is but justice 
that you should," said he. " You, an upstart 
adventurer and foreigner, have dared to raise 
your eyes in love to the grand-daughter of a 
Doge of Venice who was already betrothed 
to the heir of the Loredans. He who enjoys 
such privileges must pay a price for them." 

"It cannot be higher than they are worth," 
said I. 

" You will tell us that when you have made 
a part payment," said he. "Perhaps your 
spirit may not be so proud by that time. 
Matteo, you will lead this prisoner to the 
wooden cell. To-night is Monday. Let 
him have no food or water, and let him be 
led before the tribunal again on Wednesday 
night. We shall then decide upon the death 

which he is to die." 

Tngmal from 




It was not a. pleasant prospect, and yet it 
was a reprieve. One is thankful for small 
mercies when a hairy savage with a blood- 
stained knife is standing at one's elbow. He 
dragged me from the room and I was thrust 
down the stairs and back into my cell. The 
door was locked and I was left to my 

My first thought was to establish connec- 
tion with my neighbour in misfortune. I 
waited until the steps had died away, and 
then I cautiously drew aside the two boards 
and peeped through. The li^ht was very dim, 
so dim that I could only just discern a figure 
huddled in the corner, and I could hear the 
low whisper of 
a voice which 
prayed as one 
prays who is in 
deadly fear. The 
boards must have 
made a creaking. 
There was a 
sharp exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

friend, courage!" 
I cried "AH is 
not lost. Keep 
a stout heart, for 
Etienne Gerard 
is by your side." 

"Etienne ! " 
It was a woman's 
voice which 
spoke — a voice 
which was always 
music to my 
ears. 1 sprang 
through the gap 
and I flung my 
arms round her. 
"Lucia! Luck!" 
I cried, 

It was " Eti- 
etine!" and 
" Lucia!" for 
some minutes, 
for one does not 
make speeches 
at moments like 
that. It was she 
who came to her 
senses first. 

w Oh, Etienne, 
they will kill you. 
How came you 
into their 
hands ? " 



** In answer to your letter." 

11 I wrote no letter." 

" The cunning demons ! But you ? " 

" I came also in answer to your letter." 

" Lucia, I wrote no letter." 

11 They have trapped us both with the 
same bait." 

il I care nothing about myself, Lucia, 
Besides, there is no pressing danger with 
me. They have simply returned me to my 

(< Oh, Etienne, Etienne, they will kill you, 
Lorenzo is there." 

(t The old greybeard ? " 

11 No y no, a young dark man. He loved 

me, and I 
thought I loved 
him until * ■ . 
until I learned 
what love is, 
Etienne. He 
will never forgive 
you. He has a 
heart of stone," 

" Let them do 
what they like. 
They cannot rob 
me of the past, 
Lucia. But you 
— what about 
you ? '* 

" It will be 
nothing, Eti- 
enne. Only a 
pang for an in- 
stant and then 
all over They 
mean it as a 
badge of infamy, 
dear, but I will 
carry it like a 
crown of honour 
since it was 
through you that 
I gained it." 

Her words 
froze my blood 
with horror. All 
my adventures 
were insignifi- 
cant compared 
to this terrible 
shadow which 
was creeping 
over my soul 

Lucia ! " I cried, 
"For pity's sake 
tell me what 


Ungmal from 



these butchers are about to do. Tell me, 
Lucia ! Tell me ! " 

** I will not tell you, Etienne, for it would 
hurt you far more than it would me. Well, 
well, I will tell you lest you should fear it 
was something worse. The president has 
ordered that my ear be cut off, that I may 
be marked for ever as having loved a 

Her ear ! The dear little ear which I 
had kissed so often. I put my hand to each 
little velvet shell to make certain that this 
sacrilege had not yet been committed. Only 
over my dead body should they reach them. 
I swore it to her between my clenched teeth. 

44 You must not care, Etienne. And yet I 
love that you should care all the same." 

" They shall not hurt you — the fiends ! " 

" I have hopes, Etienne. Lorenzo is 
there. He was silent while I was judged, 
but he may have pleaded for me after I was 

11 He did. I heard him." 

" Then he may have softened their hearts." 

I knew that it was not so, but how could 
I bring myself to tell her? I might as well 
have done so, for with the quick instinct of 
woman my silence was speech to her. 

" They would not listen to him ! You 
need not fear to tell me, dear, for you will 
find that I am worthy to be loved by such a 
soldier. Where is Lorenzo now ? " 

" He left the hall." 

"Then he may have left the house as 

41 1 believe that he did." 

" He has abandoned me to my fate. 
Etienne, Etienne, they are coming ! " 

Afar off I heard those fateful steps and 
the jingle of distant keys. What were they 
coming for now, since there were no other 
prisoners to drag to judgment ? It could only 
be to carry out the sentence upon my darling. 
I stood between her and the door, with the 
strength of a lion in my limbs. I would 
tear the house down before they should 
touch her. 

14 Go back ! Go back ! " she cried. " They 
will murder you, Etienne. My life, at least, 
is safe. For the love you bear me, Etienne, 
go back. It is nothing. I will make no 
sound. You will not hear that it is done." 

She wrestled with me, this delicate creature, 
and by main force she dragged me to the 
opening between the cells. But a sudden 
thought had crossed my mind. 

44 We may yet be saved," I whispered. 
" Do what I tell you at once and without 
argument. Go into my cell Quick ! " 

Digitized by Google 

I pushed her through the gap and helped 
her to replace the planks. I had retained 
her cloak in my hands, and with this wrapped 
round me I crept into the darkest corner of 
her cell. There I lay when the door was 
opened and several men came in. I had 
reckoned that they would bring no lantern, 
for they had none with them before. To 
their eyes I was only a dark blur in the 

44 Bring a light," said one of them. 

44 No, no ; curse it ! " cried a rough voice, 
which I knew to be that of the ruffian 
Matteo. 44 It is not a job that I like, and 
the more I saw it the less I should like it. I 
am sorry, signora, but the order of the 
tribunal has to be obeyed." 

My impulse was to spring to my feet and 
to rush through them all and out by the 
open door. But how would that help Lucia ? 
Suppose that I got clear away, she would be 
in their hands until I could come back with 
help, for single-handed I could not hope to 
clear a way for her. All this flashed through 
my mind in an instant, and I saw that the 
only course for me was to lie still, take what 
came, and wait my chance. The fellow's 
coarse hand felt about among my curls — 
those curls in which only a woman's fingers 
had ever wandered. The next instant he 
gripped my ear and a pain shot through me 
as if I had been touched with a hot iron. I 
bit my lip to stifle a cry, and I felt the blood 
run warm down my neck and back. 

44 There, thank Heaven, that's over," said the 
fellow, giving me a friendly pat on the head. 
44 You're a brave girl, signora, I'll say that 
for you, and I only wish you'd have better 
taste than to love a Frenchman. You can 
blame him and not me for what I have 

What could I do save to lie still and grind 
my teeth at my own helplessness ? At the 
same time my pain and my rage were always 
soothed by the reflection that I had suffered 
for the woman whom I loved. It is the 
custom of men to say to ladies that they 
would willingly endure any pain for their 
sake, but it was my privilege to show that I 
had said no more than I meant. I thought 
also how nobly I would seem to have acted 
if ever the story camfe to be told, and how 
proud the regiment of Conflans might well 
be of their colonel. These thoughts helped 
me to suffer in silence while the blood still 
trickled over my neck and dripped upon 
the stone floor. It was that sound which 
nearly led to my destruction. 

44 She's bleeding fast," said one of the 





valets. " You had liest fetch a surgeon or 
you will fine] her dead in the morning," 

M She lies very still and she has never 
opened her mouth," said another, "The 
shock has killed her/' 

14 Nonsense ; a young woman does not 
die so easily/' It was Matteo who spoke, 
"Besides, I did but snip off enough to leave 
the tribunals mark upon her. Rouse up, 
signora, rouse up ! " 

He shook me by the shoulder, and my 
heart stood still for fear he should feel the 
epaulette under the mantle. 

" How is it with you now? " he asked. 

I made no answer. 

" Curse it, I wish I had to do with a man 
instead of a woman, and the fairest woman 
in Venice," said the gondolier. " Here, 
Nicholas, lend me your handkerchief and 
bring a light." 

It was all over. The worst had happened. 
Nothing could save me. I still crouched in 
the corner, but I was tense in every muscle, 

by \j 



like a wild cat about to spring. 
If I had to die I was determined 
that my end should be worthy of 
my life. 

One of them had gone for a 
lamp and Matteo was stooping 
over me with a handkerchief. In 
another instant my secret would 
be discovered. But he suddenly 
drew himself straight and stood 
motionless. At the same instant 
there came a confused murmuring 
sound through the little window 
far above my head, It was the 
rattle of oars and the buzz of 
many voices. Then there was a 
crash upon the door upstairs, and 
a terrible voice roared : "Open ! 
Open in the name of the Em- 
peror ! n 

The Emperor ! It was like 
the mention of some saint which, 
by its very sound, can frighten 
the demons. Away they ran 
with cries of terror— Matteo, the 
valets, the .steward, all of the 
murderous gang. Another shout 
and then the crash of a hatchet 
and the splintering of planks. 
There were the rattle of arms 
and the cries of French soldiers 
in the hall. Next instant feet 
came flying down the stair and 
a man burst frantically into my 

" Lucia ! " he cried, " Lucia ! w 
He stood in the dim light, panting and 
unable to find Ins words. Then he broke 
out again. "Havel not shown you how I 
love you, Lucia ? What more could I do to 
prove it? I have betrayed my country, I 
have broken my vow, I have ruined my 
friends, and I have given my life in order to 
save you. " 

It was young Lorenzo Loredan, the lover 
whom I had superseded, My heart was 
heavy for him at the time, but after all it is 
every man for himself in love, and if one 
fails in the game it is some consolation to 
lose to one who can be a graceful and con- 
sidcrate winner. I was about to point this 
out to him, but at the first word I ultered he 
gave a shout of astonishment, and, rushing 
out, he seized the lamp which hung in the 
corridor and Hashed it in my face. 

"It is you, you villain !" he cried. i( You 
French coxcomb. You shall pay me for the 
wrong which you have done me;"' 

But the next instant he saw the pallor of 

Original from 




my face and the blood which was still pour- 
ing from my head. 

" What is this ? " he asked* ll How come 
you to have lost your ear?" 

I shook off my weakness, and pressing 
my handkerchief to my wound I rose from 
my couch, the debonair colonel of Hussars, 
"My injury, sir, is nothing. With your 

* - MY iNJUftV* SIR, ts NOTHING. 

permission we will not allude to a matter so 
trifling and so personal." 

But Lucia had burst through from her cell 
and was pouring out the whole story while 
she clasped Lorenzo's arm. 

il This noble gentleman — he has taken 
mv place, Lorenzo ! He has borne it for 

me. He has suffered that I might be 

I could sympathize with the struggle which 
I could see in the Italian's face. At last he 
held out his hand to me, 

"Colonel Gerard/' he said, "you are 
worthy of a great love. I forgive you, for if 
you have wronged me you have made a noble 
atonement. But I wonder to see 
you alive. I left the tribunal 
before you were judged, but I 
understood that no mercy would 
be shown to any Frenchman since 
the destruction of the ornaments 
of Venice," 

11 He did not destroy them/' 
cried Lucia. "He has helped to 
preserve those in our palace." 

"One of them, at any rate/ 1 
said I, as I stooped and kissed 
her hand. 

This was the way, my friends, 
in which 1 lost my ear Lorenzo 
was found stabbed to the heart 
in the Piazza of St. Mark within 
two days of the night of my 
adventure. Of the tribunal and 
its ruffians, Matteo and three 
others were shot, the rest banished 
from the town. Lucia, my lovely 
Lueia, retired into a ronvent at 
Murano after the French had left 
the city, and there she still may 
be t some gentle lady abbess who 
has perhaps long forgotten the 
days when our hearts throbbed 
together, and when the whole 
great world seemed so small a 
thing beside the love which 
burned in our veins, Or perhaps 
it may not be so, Perhaps she 
has not forgotten. There may 
still be times when the peace of 
the cloister is broken by the 
memory of the old soldier who loved her 
in those distant days. Youth is past and 
passion is gone, but the soul of the gentleman 
can never change, and still Etienne Gerard 
would bow his grey head before her and 
would very gladly lose this other ear if he 
might do her a service* 

Sir Arthur Oman Doyle hn* in ham] several r>rher Adventures of the Brigadier, 
which will appear in due course-— Kr>. 

by Google 

Original from 

Pictures and Parodies, 

By Rudolph de Cordova. 

From t '« l\i*Hiiu,j h. : , 


[Sir Jmhua Rdjpuldi. 

not apparently lend itself to that sort of 

Sir Joshua Reynolds's " Muscipula" (The 
Mousetrap) was early in 1840 turned to 
political purposes by James Doyle, whose 
work was published with the signature 
11 H, B." He was inspired by an event 
which, though unknown to the ordinary 
student of history, created an intense 
excitement in the political world at the time. 
In his parody it is Lord John Russell 
who takes the place of the little girl, while 
the mouse in the trap is Sheriff Evans, 
one of the two Sheriffs of Middlesex, the 
hero of the event, and the cat which watches 
the proceedings is Sir Robert Peel, The 
case arose out of an action by Mr Stock dale 
against the Sheriffs to recover ^"600 
damages awarded by the jury, together with 
costs, from Messrs. Hansard, whose goods 
were sold to defray the costs. On a motion 
by Loid John Russell, the. House of 
Commons voted that the levy of execution 
of ^646 on the property of Messrs. Hansard 
was a breach of privilege of the House. 
When this was carried he moved further 

O the humorist 
nothing is sacred 
Anything, every- 
thing, he turns 
from its purpose 
to make it serve 
his end— laughter. That laughter 
may, nay often does, serve a 
useful purpose, for the humorist 
is invariably a man who devotes 
his talent to 

Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as 

it flies, 
A nil catch the manners living as 
I hey rise. 

The parodists of the poets are 
probably more numerous than 
the poets themselves, though not 
so well known, while the picture 
parodists have probably existed 
ever since the first prehistoric 
man took to drawing animals on 
bones or the rocky walls of his 
cave. A social or political, rather 
than a personal, bent has, for the 
most part, been the use to which 
the pictorial humorist has put 
the work he has parodied, and it 
is astonishing how often the 
touch of genius is given to mak- 
ing funny a subject which would 

Digitized by Go 




Furttonuftht Pitturt} 


motions that the Sheriffs be ordered to refund 
the said ^646 to Messrs. Hansard, and that 
they should be committed to the custody of 
the Serjeant-at-Arms. The case also came 
before the Court of Queen's Bench, which 
ordered them to pay the money to Stock dale, 
so that the unfortunate Sheriffs were on 
the horns of a dilemma. The House of 
Commons, however, 

carried the matter p 

with a high hand, and 
both Sheriffs were 
imprisoned in the 
House. After a few 
days Mr. Wheelton, 
one of them, was re- 
leased, but Mr. Evans 
remained in custody 
in spite of many 
attempts to get him 
freed. It was even 
declared that the con- 
finement was injuring 
his health, and physi- 
cians were brought to 
the Bar of the House 
to give evidence on 
the point and to be 
examined by the 
members, Mr. (Glad- 
stone taking a not un- 
important part in the 

Vol ufo-18. 

proceedings. Then 
the House divided, 
but the majority was 
against freeing the 
Sheriff, who held what 
were almost levies in 
his prison, and the 
Times used to print 
nearly every day the 
names of prominent 
men who visited him. 
From early in 
January until the 
middle of Aprit he 
remained a prisoner, 
until at last the House 
of Commons passed 
a resolution that he 
should be discharged 
Jrom custody. 

l^andseer*s " None 
But the Brave De- 
serve the Fair,'* which 
was described as 
u Mr. E, Landseer*s 
admired picture seen 
in a new point of 
view," represents Lord John Russell and 
Sir Robert Peel fighting over what was 
known as the "Bedchamber Question" in 
1838, while the Queen, recognised as one of 
the does crowned, and several ladies look at 
the conflict, in which the Duke of Wellington 
is also interested. Peel noticed that the tivo 
ladies most closely in attendance on Her 

[b y $i? E. Landt&r. 



I'A KO U¥ B V J A M E^. fjO.V.LI 




Fntm l!u Paint inn by] 


(By permission of Messrs. Hildeshtimer & Co., Gwtiejsof the Copyright.) 

[Lady KutUr. 

Majesty were Lady Normanby and the sister 
of Lord Morpeth. He felt that it was 
impossible for him to work the Government 
while the wife and sister of the statesmen 
whose policy he wanted to change entirely 
were the Queen's closest companions. 
Somehow, however, he managed to convey 
to the Queen not that very reasonable point, 
bat that he meant to insist on the removal of 
all her familiar attendants and household 
Associates, Her Majesty told .Sir Robert 

" she could not consent to a course she 
conceived to be contrary to usage and is 
repugnant to her feelings. 5 ' 

The question caused the greatest excite- 
ment throughout the country, and it was at 
this time that O'Connell referred to the Queen 
as "that young creature of only nineteen, as 
pure as she is exalted, who listened not to 
her head, but to the overflowing feelings of 
her young heart/ 5 Her Majesty had her 
own way. 





Prvn* t*w J'M.i>»ci*ff bv\ 


[Sir & LatuUur. 

When the 5/. Sfefiken's Review was being 
published, its cartoons, which were drawn by 
Mr + Tom Merry, attracted a great deal of 
attention, not only by reason of their merit, 
but also for the fact that, like the cartoons of 
the American periodicals and unlike those 
in our own weekly publications, they were 
printed in colour. Of the most brilliant 
examples of his skill which I have selected 
not the least conspicuous is his parody on 
Lady Butler's 
famous ll Scot- 
land for Ever," 
which he called 
"Ireland for 
Ever." In con- 
nection with the 
week's cartoon 
there was always 
published a little 
story illustrating 
it. The story of 
this one was that 
old Jonathan 
Hickman came to 
town for Easter, 
and promised to 
take Mrs, Hick- 
man back a print 
of " Scotland for 
Ever," He 
bought the pic- 
ture, and when 
he returned to 
bis hotel he got 
talking with some 
people, and under 

the influence of a heated discussion he 
declared that " the Gladstonians had sunk 
every British interest for the sake of Ireland, 
and that Lord Salisbury had not done 
enough for the British farmer*" Then he 
had three more whiskies and went to his 
room. There he conceived the desire of 
once more looking at his purchase, and 
opening the brown-paper parcel he found, 
under tlu; influence of the spirit, that (t the 

by (jOOgl* 





Frutti the I'aiTktingbjf] 

GAHHICK. DtTtftHN 1 KAtifcDV AST* CfiAlfcliV." [Sir Juatiua lUitm&is. 

horses had changed to pigs, and in place of 
the gallant Scotchmen it was a last charge of 
the Separatist Party, their shillelaghs poised 
in their hands, having carved on them Ui>ly 
little heads which frowned and grinned in 
the most horrible fashion. " So excellent 
are the likenesses that no one can fail to 
recognise them. Reading from left to light 
they are , in the front row, Mr, Labouchere, 
Mr. Healy, Mr John M or ley, Sir William 
Vernon llarcourt, Mr. Gladstone, Mr, 1\ P, 
O'Connor, Mr, Parnell, Mr. liiggar, and 
Mr. O'Brien, 

In view of the 
recent Budget of 
the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, 
Doyle's parody of 
"The Stag at 
Bay," which he an- 
nounced as having 
been " suggested 
by the beautiful 
picture of Edwin 
Landseer, Esq,, 
R,A., exhibited at 
the Royal Aca- 
demy, 1846/* has 
something of a 
topical interest, 
though the three 
personages repre- 
sented have long 
since passed away. 
The stag at bay is 

Pitt, with Lord George 
Ben ti nek as the dog 
on his back, and Lord 
Beaconsfield, then, of 
course, Benjamin Dis- 
raeli, easily recognis- 
able by his wealth of 
black curls, as the dog 
on the right 

It was the Corn Law 
which Peel introduced 
that led to the parody 
of "The Stag at Bay." 
He proposed a duty of 
ten shillings a quarter 
on corn when it was 
less than forty - eight 
shillings a quarter, the 
duty to be reduced by 
a shilling for every 
shilling corn rose until 
it reached fifty -three 
shillings a quarter, 
when the duty would 
remain at four shillings. This arrangement 
was to hold good for three years with other 
Customs duties, which the Opposition loudly 
denounced. In his speeches in this debate 
Disraeli called Peel a " trader on other 
people's intelligence, a political burglar of 
other men's ideas, ?) and he declared that " the 
occupants of the Treasury Bench were poli- 
tical pedlars who had bought their party in the 
cheapest market and sold it in the dearest. TT 

The debate lasted twelve nights, and the 
Government won by 337 votes to 240, but 





.I: -V A N l> THE W I Ih n*i IV AI>M A X, " 
FTtmi the. Painting hjf A & £«*«. /? .d. 

Ihemajoiity was not so large as was 
expected. This parody appeared on 
June 36th, 1846, the day after the 
Corn Bill was read for the third time 
in the Lords ; and a very few days 
after the stag that had stood so 
proudly at bay was dragged down 
and the Ministry fell 

It was Reynolds's picture of 
David Garrick as "a great actor 
between Tragedy and Comedy " 
which Doyle parodied with such 
happy effect, representing William 
IV. between Lord Brougham as 
Comedy and Lord Grey as Tragedy 
in the early part of 1S34. "The 
comic literature of more than a 
generation has no subject more 
fruitful than the vanity and restless- 
i of Lord Brougham," wrote 
Mr, Justin McCarthy, and here he 
is presented in a distinctly humorous 
light The caricaturist happily crys- 
tallized in his sketch the position 
of the Sovereign between the two 
famous Ministers. Brougham at 
that time was scheming to separate 
Lord Grey from his followers that he 
and his party generally might retain 

I ! 



office, he himself hoping to get the Treasury 
after Lord Grey had gone out. The original 
was no doubt a favourite picture with Doyle, 
for eleven years after he used it again for a 
parody, with O'Connell as Comedy, Peel as 
Garrick, and Sir R, Inglis as Tragedy, 

It is remarkable, when we remember how 
many years Sir John Tenniel contributed the 
political cartoon to Punch, that the number 
of famous pictures he parodied was exceed- 
ingly few. Among them was the picture of 
Uncle Toby and Widow Wad man in the 
sentry-box, after the well known picture by 
Charles R, Leslie, R.A. The scene from 
*' Tristram Shandy" is that in which Uncle 
Toby, looking into the widow's eye, said: 
11 1 protest, madam, I can see nothing what- 
ever in your eye." " It's not in the white," 
said Mrs, Wad man. " My Uncle Toby 
looked with might and main into the pupil." 

For the purposes of Punch this was per- 
verted with an ingenuity the more remark- 
able in that, as will be seen, very little has 
been altered, The date of the cartoon is 
April 22nd, 1893, and few people will require 
to he reminded that it was at that time 


Mouekm Ui.stkk VtKstoN — Mrs Ulster: " Now, Mr. Bull, du you 
rfeany *Gf*enin my ey* ?"Ori gin 3 I fnOITl 

I 4 2 


the Home Rule Bill had just been 
introduced into Parliament, and 
it was declared by some people 
in Ulster that the North would 
neither stand a Home Rule Par- 
liament nor fail to support the 
Unionists of the South in their 
resistance to it* Seizing that idea, 
Sir John represented Ulster as the 
Widow Wadman asking John Bull, 
as Undo Toby, " Do you see any 
green in my eye ? " 

It may be added in passing that 
the Uncle Toby of the original is 
supposed to be a portrait or 
Bannister, the comedian. 

Mulready's u The Wolf and the 
Lamb" was another subject in 
which Lord Brougham figured, 
this time as the aggressive boy 
bullying Lord Melbourne, while 
the little girl represents Queen 
Victorin, and the old woman is 

fVm (A* Paiatwv b]f W- J/«JjW* HA. 

the Duke of Wellington, 
The parody appeared in 
1838, at the time when 
Canadian affairs were occu- 
pying the attention of the 
country, and Lord Durham 
was sent out as Governor* 
(ieneral to the Colony. It 
was the policy of Lord 
I >urharn, who, as Mr. Justin 
McCarthy said, '* made a 
country and marred a 
career," which offered 
Brougham the opportunity 
of venfing his hatred on 
Lord Melbourne and bis 
Ministry, The l J rime 
Minister, indeed, made a 
very weak defence in the 
Mouse of Lords when 
Brougham attacked him, 
going so far on one occasion 
as to say u the fellow was in. 
such a state of excitement if I had said a word 
he would have gone stark, 
staring mad,'' 
al"ftpipd and Psyche ? " is 





Front the Drawing b]f O. &. Cipriani, HA, 

a travesty of Bartolowi's celebrated engraving 
from the dm wing by Cipriani, Cupid Iti 
this case is the Earl of Derby, and Psyche 
Miss Farren, who, contrary to the general 
belief, was by no means the first actress to 
be raised to the peerage, for Miss Fenton, 
the original Polly in " The Beggar s 
Opera, ■' had earlier 
become the 
Duchess of Bolton. 
For some reason 
Miss Fatten, one 
of the greatest 
beauties of her 
time, was always 
an object of Gill- 
rny's determined 
hostility, and the 
Earl of Derby, on 
account of his poli 
tical principles, was 
a frequent subject 
of Gillray's wit. 
Why the artist 
should have been 
opposed to the 
actress no one 
seems to know, for 
she was a most 
•estimable woman 
in ever y w a y . 
Queen Charlotte 
herself became, as 
it were, a surety 
for Miss Farren's 
reputation to sue- 
ceeding genera- 
tions. Soon after 
she married the 
Earl the actress 
wrote to the Queen 



and asked whether she would be admitted 
to Her Majesty's Drawing Rooms, and the 
Queen replied that she would be very happy to 
receive her, as she had always understood that 
Miss Farren's conduct was most exemplary. 

It will be noticed with what admirable 
humour Gillray has transformed the basket of 

love-apples with 
which the leading 
characters in the 
original are 
crowded into the 
Earl's coronet 
—a touch of real 
caricature which 
cannot be too 
highly com mended. 
Not less happy 
was the parody of Sir 
John Everett Mil 
lais's "Bubbles," a 
picture which is 
better known than 
almost any other in 
the world by reason 
of its having been 
used for the pur- 
poseof an advertise- 
ment. It was the 
outcome of the 
famous Hansard 
Union, which the 
St. Stephen's 
Review at the time 
declared to be 
"financially un- 
sound," and re- 
presents the then 
ford Mayor of 
London blowing 



By Geo. Manyelle Fenn, 


RS. DUN BY said "Thank 
goodness i " when the carriage 
rolled away from the groat 
house at the corner of Quarril! 
Square, to be followed by two 
luggage - laden cabs in the 
charge of Thompson and Mrs. Rcpton, 
valet and maid to the Eh ren bergs, bound for 
Vienna, via Charing Cross. 

The exclamation was on account of Ehren- 
berg being "a bit of a trial/' and his lady's 
health in that personage's estimation ter- 
rible, while the departure for the Continent 
meant six weeks' perfect peace, inasmuch as 
the house was to be shut up, the servants 
placed upon board wages, no tradesmen to 
invade the place for painting or other repairs, 
no cleaning to be undertaken. In short, 
there was nothing to be done but cover the 
pictures, statues, furniture, and bric-a-brac in 
the big salon and long gallery. 

There were periodical "cleanings," but 
when they did take place it was under 
Ehren berg's own superintendence, for the 
old mansion was a perfect store of what the 
French call ohjets de veriu^ n picked up " 
by their owner during his travels, sent home 
to be stood up, hung, or enclosed in cases, 
where they became, like the rest of the col- 
lection, "of fabulous value," and stayed there 
till they were in the course of time "placed" 
— in other words, sold at two, three, four, or 
five hundred per cent, profit. But let it not 
be supposed that Eh ren berg was a shop- 
keeper or tradesman. Nothing of the kind : 

b iogl 

he only, to use his own expression, "made a 
dear' sometimes, and the said deal might 
he a Vandyke, a Murillo, or Guido, an 
inlaid and chased suit of armour, a piece of 
genuine Greek sculpture, or a guaranteed 
mummy from the latest discovery in 
Egyptian tombs. 

Let it suffice that those*' in the know" 
declared Ehrenberg to be ground to the 
finest edge of sharpness, and that Mrs, 
Ehren berg's diamonds were the envy and 
admiration of society, in which they freely 

Mrs. Dunby, the housekeeper, then, said 
"Thank goodness!" in anticipation of a 
quiet rest, which was not likely to be dis- 
turbed unless she was called upon to receive 
an odd packing-case or two, containing 
something that her employer had " picked 
up n on his way, and she calmly and deliber- 
ately during the first week superintended 
the draping of statues, the covering of the 
gallery pictures, and the guarding of the 
treasure chambers generally against the in- 
sidious attacks of their great enemy in 
London, a combination of soot and dust. 

Eight days had passed, the work was done, 
and Berry, the butler, informed Mrs. Dunby 
that as it was so fine he should take a run 
down to Brighton ; and he went. 

The door had hardly closed upon his exit 
when Rinimer, the under-butler, and Small, 
the footman, appeared out of uniform, as 
they termed it, and most respectfully asked 
leave to go up to Lord s for an hour or two 
to have a look zt the great cricket match, 




Mrs. Dunby expressed her surprise at 
such an application being made to her the 
moment Mr. Berry's hack was turned ; but 
the housekeeper was old— the Mrs. did not 
mean matrimonial rank, 
being only used as a 
title which carried weight 
— and the tinder - butler 
and footman were both 
very fine men, a carefully- 

nose-bags, which they carried to the front and 
adjusted over the muzzles of the sniffing 
horses Meanwhile, the short, square, heavy- 
looking man went up to the door, rang, and 


selected pair. Moreover, Mrs. D. was in a 
particularly good humour that morning, and 
she gave her consent. 

Then it happened that the favoured 
menials had gone no farther towards Lord's 
Cricket Ground than the Running Link man, 
which old-world hostelry, as everyone knows, 
is in the narrow street at the back of Quarrill 
Square, when a very new -looking pan- 
technicon van, painted bronzy green and 
drawn by a pair of sturdy-looking horses, 
drew up in front of the entrance steps- 
It was a particularly good-looking van, 
bearing in gilt letters of running hand the 
proprietors 1 names, "Hoffmann Freres," 
and beneath, in smaller letters, "Berlin, Paris, 

As the great van stopped, a heavy, quietly 
dressed, black- bearded man got down from 
beside the driver, and four others of the 
regular porter or furniture -remover type 
descended from their tail-board seat, upon 
which they had been swinging their legs, two 
of them casting loose a couple of well- filled 



by V 



stood extricating a thick, bronze-green, oblong 
book from his pocket, lettered like the van, 
"Hoffmann Freres," but with, in addition 
to the above-named cities, the words, 
"Continental carriers." 

Mrs, Dunby opened the front door herself 
and let the sunshine into the gloomy, holland- 
d raped hall, just as the visitor slowly drew a 
short, stubby pencil from the loops ofleather 
which kept the book closed, holding it so 
that the inscription on the book could easily 
be read. 

** Goot morning, mattam," he said, in a 
guttural German voice. u Mister Ehren- 
berg's ? " 

** Yes ; what is it ? Jf said the housekeeper, 
taking in book, man, followers, van, and 
horses in one quick, suspicious glance, which 
suggested her thoughts : "If you have come 
to fetch something, you'll go back without it." 

"Ach! Id is right," replied the man, 
adjusting the spectacles he wore before 
opening the book and making a dash at a 
much-used slip of blotting-paper which flew 

Original from 



out Then, reading slowly : " For derlivery : 
von longue gase and dwo dall ubright gase. 
Vragile j mit great gare. Gonsign vrom 

" Oh ! " said the housekeeper, shortly, and 
then in a sharper tone, which sounded as if 
garnished with suspicion, "and how much to 

" Do bay ? " said the man, looking over his 
glasses and wrinkling his forehead. " Noding. 
Garriage, Gondinental sdeamer, and vrom 
Volkestone to London, all baid." 

" Ho ! I have had no orders about 
receiving any packages. What have you 
brought ? " 

" Der dree gase, mattam. w 

" Yes, yes ; but what is in them ? " 

" Ach ! In de longue gase a bianovorty, 
very olt. Id is in von of our gase. Der 
von id game in vas broke ail do bids in de 

"Then it is damaged," said the house- 
keeper, shortly. "I shall not receive it" 

" Nein, nein, mattam. Der biano is nod 
damage. Id is de gase vos broke. I shall 
unback id vor you do see. My beobles gif 
orders. Id is all right. You look here ; id is 
insure, mattam." 

He pointed to a printed note at the bottom 
of the consignment leaf, which the house- 
keeper read, and then seemed satisfied. 

" Well, I suppose you had better leave 
them," she said. 

The man gave his head a clumsy bob, 
intended, no doubt, for a polite bow, before 
tearing off from the counterfoil a duly filled- 
up delivery-note, which he handed to the 
housekeeper, with the pencil. 

" BVaps mattam will sign," he said, and he 
stepped inside the hall to lay the open book 
ready for the receiver's signature. — "Dank 
you, mattam. Now where will you have de 
backages ? " 

" Bring them in here," was the reply. 

" Ach ! Zo ? Bud dey dake up all de 

"Never mind. Let me see." 

The man nodded, buttoned up his book, 
and took out a key, which he shook signifi- 

" We dake gare of de goods in our sharge," 
he said, and going out he gave some orders 
to the waiting men, who let down a couple 
of bars which crossed the back of the 
van, after which the foreman, or what- 
ever he was, unlocked the doors, which 
were thrown open, and his people, with all 
the dexterity of those accustomed to handle 
chests and pieces of furniture, drew out a 

by K: 



long deal case, getting it well between them, 
and bore it up into the hall, to place it 
where directed at the foot of a wide flight 
of stairs. 

" As if he hadn't got enough pianos in 
the pl&ce ! " muttered the housekeeper as 
the men tramped out again, followed by their 
foreman, who gave his orders in a short, stern 
voice to the pair, who entered the van, and 
between them turned down a tall, heavy case 
till the top could be taken by the two waiting 
by the tail-board, who supported it till the 
first pair got out of the waggon and lent 
their help, with the result that the four skil- 
fully bore what was evidently a very heavy 
load into the hall, and then, in obedience to 
their orders, stood the case up on end. 

The third case was brought in after the 
same fashion, and stood on the other side of 
the piano. 

" Is that all ? " asked the housekeeper. 

" Yes, mattam, dat is everydings ; but I 
mus' dake de instrument out of our gase." 

He turned sharply to one of his followers, 
and said, in German, "Where are the 
tools ? " and the man went out to the van. 

The housekeeper looked at the three 
cases pretty well blocking up the end of the 
hall, and then, as if making up her mind 
quickly and mastering a doubt, she said, 
imperiously : — 

" I shall not have the case opened." 

The foreman looked perplexed, and began 
to pass one hand through his beard. 

" I am sorry, mattam, but my orders were 
to open dot gase and see dat der biano was 
in goot orter and none of der bolish gone off. 
Ach ! Besides, I must dake back de emdy 

" Very well," said the housekeeper ; " but 
the things can't stand there. Your men 
must carry them up into one of the rooms." 

" Zo ? " exclaimed the man, and, getting 
the porters together, he turned an inquiring 
look upon the housekeeper. 

" Through that door at the head of that 

" Ach ! Dot is goot," said the man, with 
a little chuckle. " Blenty of room ; all 
strade oop, and no gorners to go rount. 
Dese gases are very heavy, mattam. Now, 
my boys," he added, in German, " be quick." 

It was an ascent of some eight or nine 
low, wide stairs to a big landing, where an 
arched doorway was partly hidden by heavy 
curtains, which in their turn were covered 
with holland. These were thrown back on 
either side with a loud jangling noise of 
brass rings gliding over a pole, showing a 

Original from 



long gallery lit From the roof, and looking 
hke a kind of avenue of awkward objects 
draped in hoi land, while as much of the 
wails as could be seen wan evidently hung 
with pictures similarly treated. 


M You shoost dell me where you like de 
gase to stand, and my poys shall roll oop 
enough garped, dont you dink ? " 

" Yes, it will be as well," said the house- 
keeper, leading the way, followed by the 
men, who directly after folded back four-fold 
a portion of the magnificent Aubusson 

M Dot will do," said the foreman, in a deep 
growl. ** Dere is blenty of room, mattam," 
and then in German he pointed out where 
each case was to be placed. 

Everything was done in so quick and 

by Oc 


business-like a way that the housekeeper 
almost smiled as she stood looking on from 
the landing, and saw the men in the hall take 
hold of one of the tall cases, tilting it towards 
her, and handling it easily in spite of its 
weight. One minute she 
noted the inscription "lop,"' 
in three languages, the next 
she saw three of the men 
lower the case down to the 
fourth, who had gone upon 
all fours at the foot of the 
stairs ready to receive the 
weight upon his broad 
back, and while his com- 
panions guided, eased, and 
steadied the burden, he 
crawled slowly up the stairs 
to the landing, where the 
case was up-ended, seized, 
and borne to its apportioned 

" Dot is de best way to 
garry hefify gases, mattam/' 
said the foreman^ with a 
grim smile. 

The fellow - package was 
treated in the same way and 
stood up facing the first f so 
that they looked like two 
square deal towers right and 
left of the holland avenue, 
and then the men went 
down to attack the piano- 

u Some stadues, mattam, 
I dink," said the foreman, 

" Are thev quite safe like 

"Zo? Ach T you dink 
dey dumble over. Nein, 
nein. Doo heffy. You 
look dere/ 

As he spoke the man 
seized one of the tall cases 
and gave it a heavy 
thrust \ but it did not stir, 

" You zee," he said, 1( 1 gould not move 
them. My poys are fery sdrong. Look 

He pointed to the piano-case coming up 
on four legs, as it were, balanced carefully on 
the back of another of the men ; and a 
minute later it was placed between the 

(t Dools," said the foreman, and a couple 
of screw-drivers were produced from a carpet- 
bag, the lid of the case taken off, the front 
unscrewed in turn, and then the men drew 

Original from 


i 4 8 


out a beautifully inlaid early representation 
of a square piano, harpsichord, or clavichord, 
probably a couple of hundred years old. Its 
legs lay at one end of the case, and these 
were taken out, screwed in their places, and 
the instrument stood up, with the foreman 
carefully examining it all round, while three 
of the men replaced front and lid of the case 
and bore it hack to the van. 

" She is not efen sgratched," said the fore- 
man, with a sigh of 
relief, and he tapped 
the top with his 
knuckles, bringing 
forth a discordant, 
jangling sound of 
loose wires. 

" 1 not gif much 
for dot music, mat- 
tarn," said the man, 
with a thick chuckle ; 
11 but dis engrafe 
wood — ach, lofely ! " 

"Old rubbish," 
said the house- 
keeper, shortly, 

11 Dot is what my 
old woman would 
say, mat tarn. But 
engrafe inlay wood ! 
Ach, lofely ! Your 
J ippingtale gome 
not near to it. Now, 
you ! " he continued, 
to the remaining 
man, and the next 
minute the lattci 
was busy with spirit- 
bottle and rubbers, 
touching up the old 
polished wood where 
necessary, und vastly 
i m proving the 

appearance of the instrument as he brought 
out the grain, while the foreman opened the 
front and displayed the worn and yellow 
ivory keys and the satin-wood lining decked 
with inlaid flowers. 

" Mattam like do dry de biano? w said the 
foreman, with a leer at the stern-looking 
housekeeper, " Nein ? Mattam is right/ 1 
he continued, thumping two or three keys 
and producing dismal, skeleton like sounds, 
"Ach!" he said, grimly. il Like an old 
goflfin in which zome old music was buried, 
and we dig it oop." 

14 Bah!" exclaimed the housekeeper, 
"There, be quick, please." 

" My poy have nearly done, mattam. You 

tike to look inside again at de vlowers all 
inlaid in wood ? " 

"No, "said the housekeeper; "I have no 
taste for such old rubbish." 

il Mattam is fery wise laty," said the man ; 
" boot dere are voolish beobles who give one, 
dwo, dree hoondert bound for dot, Dere, I 
shut him oop. Dot will do, Hans, poy ; de 
bolish is goot," 

The man replaced his bottle and rubbers 
along with the screw- 
drivers in the carpet- 
bag, and went to 
join his companions, 
who were shutting 
up the van, 

" Dot is all, mat- 
tam/ 5 said the fore- 


with the respect 
paid to her, molli- 
fied Mrs, Dunby, 
who approved more 
of the German 
polish than the 
French just applied 
to the old instru- 
ment, and she be- 
came con d c see nd- 

"You and 
m e n w o u 1 d 
some beer, I 

pose i 







tfc Doze dings was 

fery lieffy, mattam, 

and my poys are 

Shannon. Dey vould 

be glad to trink 

your healt," 

"Then you do not drink beer t but 

schnapps, I suppose?" said the housekeeper, 

with a smile. 

11 Nein t mattam, nod at alk I haf been 
deedodal effer since I gome to London," 

" Oh ! ■' said the housekeeper, and she sent 
one of the maids for a jug of beer, which 
was partaken of in the hall, and then after 
a "Goot morning mattam," the foreman 
took his departure and the van was driven 
away, its gilt letters enlightening all whom 
it might concern upon the fact that 
Hoffmann K teres, of Paris, Berlin, and 
London, had delivered a heavy consign- 
ment of bric-i-brac at Ehrenberg's, and 
that was all 

Original from 





The maids said that Mrs. Dunby was in 
one of her tantrums next morning ; and, in 
truth, that lady was not in an amiable state 
of mind. It was quite natural that Mr. 
Berry, the butler, had not returned from 
Brighton overnight, for it had been settled 
that he should pass four-and-twenty hours 
at the seaside ; but that Rimmer and Small, 
upon whom she looked with favour, should 
have taken advantage of her kindness and, 
in the absence of master and fellow-servant, 
stopped out all night too, was unpardonable, 
and she said so in the hearing of the maids, 
and, in addition, uttered threats about 
reporting their conduct to Mr. Ehrenberg 
on his return. 

" Which she just won't," said one of the 
housemaids ; " but fleas in their ears when 
they do come back is nothing to it." 

" My word, yes ! " said another. " There 
will be a shindy ! " 

The said *' shindy " occurred much 
sooner than the maids anticipated, for they 
had hardly spoken before there was a violent 
ringing of a bell. 

" What bell's that ? " said one. 

" Picture - gallery," said the cook, who 
never answered bells, but had a very good 
ear for music. " You gells have been leav- 
ing your brushes and brooms there after 
sweeping up yesterday when the men went 

" I didn't," said one housemaid. 

" And I'll swear I didn't," said the other. 

Jangle went the bell again, more violently 
than before. 

" Why don't you answer the bell, Mary ? " 
said the first speaker. 

44 Well, I'm sure, Sarah ! " replied the other, 
tartly. " It's not my place to answer the 
picture-gallery bells. Where are the foot- 
men ? " 

Jangle went the tintinnabulation again, and 
cook spoke wisdom. 

" She's in a regular fantigue, my dears, and 
I'd go up together and share it, if I was 
you. There, don't stand haggling." 

Cook had great influence with her fellow- 
servants, and her advice prevailed, the two 
housemaids entering by the open picture- 
gallery door just as Mrs. Dunby had .placed 
her hand upon the bell handle with the 
intention of keeping it there till the summons 
was answered. 

" Oh, there you are at last ! " cried the 
irate housekeeper. " Now, then, if you 
please, have the goodness to explain that." 

She stood in a tragedy-queen attitude, 

by K: 



pointing at a holland - covered chiffonnier, 
upon which stood a port-wine bottle and a 
tumbler, the first empty and displaying its 
patch of whitewash, and beside it, impaled 
upon a pocket corkscrew, a dissipated-look- 
ing, sodden cork, the glass holding still about 
a tea-spoonful of port-wine crust, showing 
that the bottle had been drained. 

The maids stared at the bottle and glass 
and then back at the housekeeper, before 
turning questioning eyes one upon the other. 

" Well, why don't you speak ? " cried their 

" I dunno what you mean, ma'am," cried 

44 And I'm sure I don't neither," said 

" No lies, if you please," cried the house- 
keeper, angrily. " If you'll take my advice 
you'll be open and confess." 

" Confess ! " said Mary. " I've nothing to 

" And I'm sure I ain't," said Sarah. 

" Shame upon you both ! I've suspected 
it for long enough. Late at night, too, after I 
had gone up to bed ! " 

" What do you mean, Mrs. Dunby ? " said 
Mary, simply. 

" I mean that you two took advantage of 
Mr. Berry being out and the men-servants 
away to go down to the butler's pantry and 
steal that wine." 

"That I'm sure we didn't," snorted Mary. 
"Nothing of the kind." 

" It's false ! " cried the housekeeper. " You 
two planned it, I'm sure, and had in I 
don't know who — the grocer's man or the 
butcher, or some other two friends of yours 
— to drink your master's wine ; and as soon 
as he returns you may make up both your 
minds to be turned away without characters." 

" Oh, very well," said Mary, loftily. 
" Don't mind what she says, Sarah, dear ; 
good places are plentiful enough, and it 
won't be much of a loss to leave a situation 
where the housekeeper drinks." 

" What ? " cried the lady in question, turn- 
ing pale. 

" And has in a German furniture-moving 
man to half finish a bottle of master's port 

11 How dare you ! " 

44 And has so much herself that she forgets 
to put the bottle and glass away." 

" You impudent hussy ! " cried the house- 
keeper, almost foaming. 

" Faugh ! I saw you smiling at him 
yesterday, and him being sweet as sweet 
to you. Didn't you, Sarah ? " 

Original from 

i S o 


"Well, I did see something, certingly," 
said Sarah ; "and—" 

" If you please* Mrs. Dun by," said cook, 
entering the gallery, looking sharply from one 
to the other, "the front-door bell rang, and 
here's that German furniture-moving man 
come back," 

The two housemaids burst into a shriek of 
laughter and rushed out of the room, while 

" Hoffmann Freres — Despatch London. 
A mistake* The three cases not to be taken 
to my London house, but sent by S.W.R, to 
The Willows, Dalemond on Thames." 

" Ha ! " said the housekeeper, coldly, 
" But the cases are here," 

" Yes, mattam." 

" Then what do you propose to do ?" 

"What dis delegram say, mattam." 


the housekeeper's face became of the colour 
of fresh putty. 

"Anything the matter, Mrs. Dunby?" 
said the cook, 

11 The matter ? Oh ! " cried the house- 

Few words, but intense of the in tensest, 
and she stalked into the hall, to find the 
foreman from Hoffmann Freres waiting, hat 
in hand, just inside the door. 

" Goot morning, mattam," he said, with a 
respectful bow, "I am zorry to d rouble 
you, but there h a great misdake*" 

"And pray who has made it?" said the 
housekeeper, icily, and with tightened lips, 

" I sub bos e> mattam, it was de Herr 

" My master?" 

"Yes, mattam. If you would read dot 
delegraTn. n 

He placed the message in her hands, and 
she read : — 

by Google 

"Take them to Mr. E lire n berg's country 
seat ? " 

" No, mattam. I haf brought de van and 
de gase, and we shall dake all de dings to 
Nine Elms." 

Mrs. Dunby looked very cold and stern, 
but her heart seemed to be on fire and 
hurtling with the unjust injuries she had 
received, as she read the telegram over again. 

" Very well," she said, coldly ; " I suppose 
it is all right Make haste, please, for I am 

" I dank you, mattam," said the foreman ; 
and he went slowly to the door, which was 
opened for him, to sign to the waiting men 
with the van, who immediately began to 
open the back of the great, lumbering vehicle 
and draw out the empty case. 

" I am fery zorry do drouble you all over 
again, mattam," said the foreman, politely, 

41 Never mind," replied the housekeeper, 
coldly ; and then she stood on guard, as 

Original from 



in duty bound, while the business of the 
previous day was reversed. She saw the 
heavy packages removed and the piano re- 
stored to its outer case, and neither of the 
statues could have been so stony as the aspect 
of Mrs. Dun by and her distance of manner 
towards the foreman, while when the two 
housemaids passed through the long gallery 
twice over — casually, of course — there was a 
flash from the housekeeper's usually dull 
eyes that was absolutely withering. 

The moving took some time, for the men 
were very deliberate in their motions, and 
their foreman punctilious in the extreme 
over the relaying of the rolled-back carpet, 
and the Ailing up and signing of a printed 
form of receipt. 

But at last all was done, the cases were in 
the van, locked up, the men in their seats 
upon the lowered tail-board, and the foreman 
by the driver, ready to raise his hat to the 
housekeeper as the party were driven away. 

" Ha ! " said Mrs. Dunby just then, with 
a snort, as she caught sight of two tall, 
picked footmen out of livery coming down 
the side of the square. "There's going to 
be something said about this." 

Prophetic words. Ten minutes later 
Ri Rimer's ears tingled, and Small, in despite 
of his 6ft, felt worthy of his name 

i: Old cat ! " he said to his fellow-servant, 
later on. " I thought we'd pretty well got 
the length of her foot Think she'll tell the 
gov'nor when he comes back ? " 

" You bet ! " was the surly reply. 

The week which followed was not pleasant 
for anybody ; even Mr. Berry, the butler, did 
not seem benefited by his run down to 
Brighton, and the general consensus of 
opinion in the servants' hall was that matters 
would be made warm when " master " re- 

They were, and much sooner than was 
anticipated. For three days after there was 
a surprise — Ehrenberg came home in a cab, 
no notice having been sent so that the 
carriage might meet him and his lady ; 
and consequently no preparations had been 
made. The shutters were still closed and 
the furniture remained decked in holland. 

" Been awful," whispered Mrs* Ehrenberg's 
maid hastily to the housekeeper. " Nothing 
the matter, but she's pretended that she was 
getting worse, and he was obliged to bring 
her home." 

There was nothing for it but for all the 
staff to set to work to make the place pre- 
sentable for the travellers, and as soon as 
Ehrenberg had finished the scratch dinner 

by \j 



and was sitting over his wine alone he sent 
for the housekeeper. 

"Well, Dunby," he said, "is everything 

"Well, sir " 

" Stop ! " cried the great collector, ex- 
citedly. "Don't tell me there has been a 
burglary amongst my gems ? " 

"Oh, dear, no, sir. Everything in the 
collection is all right. I was going to allude 
to the conduct of the servants during your 

" Is that all ? " said Ehrenberg, calmly. 

"Yes, sir; but it's very serious, sir, and I 
feel it my duty to speak." 

"Go on, then, and get it over. You 
know I don't like to be bothered about these 
petty domestic troubles." 

" Yes, sir, but this is very serious. I came 
down one morning, sir, to find that two of 
the women had been having visitors in the 
night, and there were traces of their carous- 
ing in the picture-gallery." 

" What traces ? " said Ehrenberg, glaring. 

"An empty port-wine bottle, sir, and 

" In my gallery ? " 

w Yes, sir." 

" Confound their insolence ! But port 
wine? In the night? Where were the 
men ? Were they in it ? " 

" No, sir ; I am grieved to say that they 
had taken advantage of your absence and 
were out all night." 

44 Discharge the lot. A fresh staff of 
domestics, Mrs Dunby. With such a collec- 
tion "of art treasures as mine I must have 
servants that I can trust." 

"Yes, sir. I am sorry to complain, but 
the maids were most insolent to me." 

" Then speak out when you are applied to 
for their characters." 

"Yes, sir." 

"That's all, then?" 

" Yes, sir ; I don't think that I have any- 
thing else to say." 

"Then be off and let me finish my wine 
in peace, for I've had precious little since 
I've been away." 

" I'm very sorry, sir. My mistress, then, 
has been so ill ? " 

" Rubbish ! There, that will do." 

"Oh, there is one thing, sir. The three 
great cases arrived from Vienna." 

" The three great cases ? ' 

" Yes, sir ; by Hoffmann Freres ; and I had 
them placed in the picture-gallery.''* 

" Three great cases ! " mused Ehrenberg. 
" And you had them placed in the gallery ? " 

Original from 



11 Yes, sir ; but the men came with your 
telegram saying that it was a mistake." 

"Ah, of course!" cried Ehrenberg, "I 
felt that there was nothing to come here," 

*' Exactly, sir, and they took them away 
next day." 

" Took them away next day ? " said the 
collector, changing colour. " My telegram ? 
Good heavens, woman ! I sent no telegram- 
Where is it?* 1 

11 Here, sir," said the housekeeper, trem- 
bling, and she produced the delivery-note, 
the receipt for the packages, and the tele 
gram, all neatly pinned together* 

Ehrenberg glanced at them and thumped 
his fist on the 

"A conspiracy! " 
he roared, 
" Woman, do you 
mean to tell me 
you received these 
three great cases 
and had the m 
placed in the 
picture-gallery ? " 

u Yes, sir." 

11 And they were 
there all one 

"Yes, sir; 

Si 1 

e n c e 

i » 

roared Ehrenberg. 
u And they were 
fetched next day ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

11 W h at were 
they ? » 

"Statues, sir, in 
two cases, and a 
piano in the other" 

il How do you 

11 They opened 
the case and took 
the piano out." 

411 A planner, Sammy! 1 " groaned Ehren- 
berg, involuntarily quoting old Welter's words 
to his son. " Oh, woman, woman, you've 
ruined me ! " 

He upset his wine and ran out into the 
hall, hounded up the short flight of stairs, 
threw open the gallery door, and switched 
on the electric lights, to reveal a state 
of peace within, for the hoi land draperies 
met his eyes from end to end, and 
as the trembling housekeeper tottered 
in he dropped down upon a covered 

settee and began to mop his streaming 

11 A false alarm, Dunby/' he said, huskily. 
11 I was afraid that— I thought — I don't 
understand — yes, I do!" he roared, spring- 
ing up and rushing to the nearest portion 
of the wall, to seize and whisk aside the 
hanging hoi land covering of a picture. 
" I knew it ! I knew it ! " he cried, 
piteously, as an empty massive gilt frame 
met his eyes. "My Velasquez — worth 
thousands ! " 

He went to the next drapery and dragged 
it aside* 

" That heavenly Rubens ! " he cried, and 

rushed on* 

" My Guido I " 
he groaned. 

Before a n - 
other : — 

14 That glorious 
Vandyke !" 

Then there was 
a yell of rage 
before the empty 
frame of a Botti 
celh, another where 
a Murillo should 
have been seen, 
and so on t and so 
on — everywhere a 
sharp knife had 
been in use, and 
the choice reputed 
works of the great 
artists had been 
neatly cut out and 
were gone* 

*' Get out of my 
sight before 1 
murder you! ?: cried 
the collector, at 
last, — u No, stop! " 
"Yes, sir Oh s 
Mr. Ehrenberg, 

sir -" 

"Don't talk to 
man* Here, quick ; 




me ! Vm a ruined 
send for the police ! " 

"Yes, sir," cried the woman, making for 
the door, glad to escape, 

" Not the regular force. — Here, what am I 
saying? Send Berry in a cab, and tell him 
he's to bring back the sharpest sergeant from 
Scotland Yard*" 

The message was sent, and Ehrenberg 
calmed down over his wine, which he had 
finished and was well through a choice cigar 
before the lynx-eyed detective from the 

Original from 


J 53 

Metropolitan centre arrived, had a short 
conference with the collector, and then went 
over the place, saw the empty frames, and 
heard all that Mrs. Dun by had to say before 
being closeted in the study once more, 

ig Well, sergeant," said Ehrenberg, " what 
do you think of it all ? " 

u The same as you do, sir/ 1 was the reply. 

" What do you mean, sir," cried Ehren 
berg T stiffly. 

w Why, it's all plain enough, sir. Who- 
ever planned the job must have known of 
you and your doings quite well." 

" Then you think it was the servants ? " 

* l Tchah ! Not they, sir ! Not in 'em, 
Bit of artful craft, sir, planned by someone 
with brains and a bit o 1 capital to carry it 
out. There was the van painted and got up 
fur the job ■ the old piano they brought ; the 
way it was all rehearsed like a play before- 
hand. I should say, sir, that this scheme 
was made in Germany. Those Dutchmen 
have been pretty busy here lately, and the 
pictures have gone there to be sold," 

" But the servants must have had something 
to do with it. Letting them in T for instance, 
that night" 

" The house- 
keeper did that 
by day, sir." 
* '* What do you 
mean ? " 

you see, 
Those tall 
with the 
statues in- 
statues, sir, 

tall cases to let out his mates. Then they had 
it all to themselves, Sharp knives passed 
round the frames, pictures rolled up and 
tied with string. Plenty of room for the 
rolls in the corners of the cases, and in the 
piano, too. The job done, the two stepped 
into their places again and the third shut 
them up — locked 'em in, I dare say- — and 
then went to bed in his piano to wait until 
called for. Beg pardon, sir, but it's all as 
plain as the nose on your face." 

"Yes," said Ehrenberg, bitterly, as he 
involuntarily raised his hand to the rather 
prominent organ, " And now what do you 
mean to do ? " 

" Nothing, sir, but wait. The only thing I 
can suggest is to watch the sales if the 
pictures come to the hammer in Paris, Berlin, 
Vienna, or elsewhere; and all I can say as to 
that, sir, would be — is it worth while ? " 

Ehrenberg sat looking hard at the officer 
for some minutes, during which he ran over 
in his own mind the trifling sums he had 
paid for the different chefs d^uvre of the 
great masters, and decided that the man was 





- live 


up ready to be 

let out." 

4i Who by?" 
M The little 
wiry chap in the 
old planet, sir. 
Sure to be a wiry 
one come out of 
that, sin That 
sounding - board 
was like the lid 
—on binges, sir. 
He only had to 
lift it up and step 
out to open the 
tops of the two 


D->UtH0HQ « 



Vol. vd*.-ZQ 

by Google 

Original from 

A Night in the Crater of a Volcano. 

Bv Mrs. Alec-Tweeds. 

Author of l( Mexico as I Saw It" (l Through Finland in Carts" tic. 


VII. W i i [■ ] -u COC ATA PF.TL, 


1NE of the most famous 
volcanoes of the world stands 
in the great plain of Mexico; 
it is over 17,000ft. high, and 
rises into a sugar-loaf point of 
snow. Far away in the more 
southern and tropical parts of the Republic 
Popoca taped may be seen rearing his 
majestic head* It ts possible to go to the 
summit, but not easy. Having done a little 
mountain climbing invariably makes one 
anxious to do more, so I quite hoped before 
leaving Mexico to accomplish the ascent of 
this famous giant After many travels in 
many lands I feel that the view from the 
Castle of Chapultepec, formerly the strong- 
hold of Montezuma, near Mexico City, is the 
grandest panorama my eyes have ever beheld ; 
the castle is only 8,oooft. above the sea, so 
that, presumably, the view from the summit 
of one of the two famous volcanoes across 
the valley must be still more wonderful 

Amecameca is one of the quaint old 
Spanish towns of the Mexican Republic, and 
a run of a few hours along the Inter-Oceanic 
Railway brings travellers to this the nearest 
point for ascending PopocatapetL What a 
dear old town it is ! 

My stay in the Republic was drawing to 

Digitized by GoOQle 

a close, the notes for my book were nearly 
completed, and there remained but two 
expeditions to make, when, unfortunately, 
one of those disasters to which one is liable 
in the tropics befell me, I was bitten by 
mosquitoes or poisoned by ivy— it matters 
not which — blood-poisoning was the result, 
and a terrible illness nearly claimed my 
bones to be left in that far away land. Those 
expeditions, therefore, were never made, and 
Popocatapetl, so fir as I am concerned, yet 
remains a terra incognita, 

"I am extremely glad you couldn't go/ 
remarked Mr. J. Fletcher Toomer, an English 
engineer well known in Mexico, where he 
lived for many years in charge of the great 
drainage tunnel which finds its outlet bv 
passing through the mountain range surround- 
ing the City of Mexico, I had so often been 
warned about the difficulties of Popocatapeil 
that I scornfully replied to this manager of 
mines and railways : — 

u Well, I had quite meant to go, it was 
part of my programme, and had I been able 
to crawl it would have been done." 

"Crawling about suits that height/' he 

said, laughingly, * 4 for verily it amounts to that. 

It is a tremendous undertaking for anyone, 

and I know it was nearly my death, But 

Original from 




then 1 spent a night in the bowels of the 

" How ? " I asked* in amazement 

41 Well, it came about in this wise. There 
was some idea of working the sulphur in the 
bottom of the crater, bits of which had been 
brought up at different times by the Mexican 
Indians in a primitive way, and I was asked 
if 1 dared go down and make an investigation 
into the possibility of working the mine for 
practical business purposes," 

" Had no one been down before ? " I 

" No white man so far as I know, and I 
don't suppose another is likely to go in a 
hurry, leastways to spend the night there, for 
it was not a pleasant experience." 

11 We started from Amecameca very early 
in the morning," said Mr. Toomer. "Of 
course, there was the usual delay with the 
Indian guides; the horses were not ready, 
the food was not prepared, and it was long 
past the appointed time before our little 
party was under way. At last we were all 
mounted and off for a ride of some hours, 
which ended in gradually ascending the 
mountain itself. Ten thousand feet above 
the sea we emerged beyond the timber-line, 
and in a little while reached a ranch called 
Tlacamas, It was a primitive enough little 
place, where there was a small sulphur 
refinery used for the product brought 
down the mountain by the Indians, This 
little hut was to be our night's shelter, 



From the south-east side, be it understood, 
the crater is accessible, but the height is so 
great, the climate so warm from which one 
ascends, and the Air so rarefied that mountain 
sickness makes it impossible for many people, 
otherwise good climbers, to ascend this lofty 
peak ; indeed* several of the cities of Mexico 
stand nearly 8,000ft. above the sea, and many 
folk cannot live even at such an altitude. 
After suffering a sufling sensation for an hour 
or two^they have to return to the train and 
descend to the plains below. 

It is a curious thing in Mexico, as in other 
tropical countries, that everything looks so 
near. The air is so clear, the sky so blue> that 
when standing in Amecameca I thought the 
grant peak was only a mile or two away \ it 
seemed just beside me, so to speak t but in 
reality it was nothing of the kind. 

and we slept amidst the fumes of sulphur, 
noticing that the very ferns and flowers could 
be thickly coated with the mineral after being 
dipped into the molten sulphur. It was 
only about five o'clock in the afternoon when 
we reached this spot, but when we asked our 
guide what programme he suggested his 
reply was that ' if the senor ate nothing after 
a little light five o'clock supper and did 
exactly as he was told he would reach the 
top to-morrow. ' It sounded an easy pro- 
gramme, but we were hungry after a long, 
dusty ride and wanted a good meal ; never- 
theless, feeling that the man knew best, 
we implicitly obeyed his orders. We soon 
turned in, rolled ourselves up in our blankets, 
and slept on the floor quite happily. 

"At half-past two the following morning, 
with the darkest of blue skies overhead and 




THt hl'T ON 

twinkling stars high up in the heavens, we 
rose, but we were not allowed to eat or 
drink ere proceeding on our way/' 

This to the stranger sounds unkind, but 
it is a curious fact that at such high altitudes 
one is rarely anxious for food, and I know 
that during the months I spent in Mexico I 
seldom felt the pangs of hunger, and was 
content with far less sleep than usual The 
air acts like champagne, and t although very 
invigorating and 
delightful for a 
time, it tells in 
the end upon the 
constitution, and 
makes living in 
such altitudes 
difficult and dan- 
gerous to people 
not brought up 
from their youth 
to doing so. 

"No boots," 
called the guide 
to Mr, Toomer 
as he was com- 
pleting his toilet; 
** no boots, senor. 
Your feet must be 
wrapped in strips 
of heavy flannel." 

Suiting the action to the word, the swarthy 
Indian proceeded to bind his companion 
up until his feet looked exactly like sacked 
hams, outside which he placed native 
u guaraches," the sandals of the country. 
These shoes are made of a piece of raw 
hide cut flat and more or less the shape 
of the foot, and a few thongs of leather 
across the toes and round the heel bind 
them on. The natives never wear any- 
thing else than these sandals ; sometimes 
they are ornamented with brown or white 
leather alternating across the toe in chess- 
board fashion, but they are more often 
plain, for the Mexican Indian is generally 
poor. He finds his sandals sufficient protec- 
tion for his feet, as a rule, and many of the 
men of different tribes will jog-trot fifty miles 
a day with ease. They take letters and carry 
weights on their heads, are general carriers in 
fact, and, in spite of the heat, can endure 
great fatigue. 

For ascending a mountain strips of flannel 
are fastened outside the sandal, however, to 
prevent the traveller from slipping. 

How well I know those wound-up feet ! 
When mountaineering in Switzerland or 
Snow shoeing in Norway the ordinary booi 

Digitized by G< 


with a high heel is an impossibility* and the 
well-protected swathed foot is as necessary in 
the tropics as in the Arctic zone. 

14 Three hours' ride," continued Mr 
Toomer, *' through that deep sand so com- 
mon in Mexico brought us to Las Cruces, 
which is not even a hut, but merely a rock 
beyond which point it is impossible for ponies 
to climb. The stars had disappeared, The 
deep indigo had turned to lighter blue, and 

the heat of the 
sun was already 
being felt in the 
valley below, but 
with us it was 
only pleasantly 

"'Walk very 
slowly,' said the 
guide; *t h e 
senor must walk 
more slowly than 
he ever walked in 
all his life before, 
or the senor's 
heart will stop 
and he will not 
reach the top.' 

■ E Not wishing 
the senor's heart 
to stop I took 
his advice, which was quite superfluous, 
for I quickly found that it would be im 
possible to w,ilk at anything but a slow 
pace, to crawl in fact, stopping every 
few minutes to look at the view below. 
What a glorious panorama lay mapped 
out before us, making an excellent excuse 
for turning round to admire it constantly ! 
For two hours we trudged along, gettmg 
u[j higher and higher, until we left the 
sand behind and found ourselves in the 
region of perpetual snow. 

41 * The senor must not go so quick/ 
exclaimed the Indian, buttoning his white 
shirt at the neck and pulling his blanket and 
red flannel zerape about him; 'the senor 
must stop again and look at the view/ and 
so I halted. He was right ; the view was 
worth stopping for many times just to look 
at it There were the shining domes of the 
City of Mexico far away in the distance, 
and below us lay the quaint old town of 
Amecameca* I felt that a little refreshment 
would be acceptable after the climb, but the 
head guide was quite determined that I 
should neither eat nor drink until the work 
was done. 

" It seemed suddenly to grow cold, 
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although the sun had been shining a moment 
before. Like a pantomime scene a sudden 
haziness surrounded us, a chill ran through 
me, the shining domes of the city dis- 
appeared, it grew perceptibly colder, even 
Amecameca became indistinct, end then in a 
moment, as if some magic wand waved 
around us, we were in a blinding blizzard of 
snow. How it snowed ! How cold it was ! 
We waited for the furies to spend themselves; 
half an hour, and it seemed to get worse— an 
hour, and the guide declared it was impossi- 
ble to proceed. This was not cheerful when 
we had come so far, but there was nothing 
for it but to turn and go back again to the 
little ranch at Tlacamas and spend the 
night there, he said." 

Those who have done any mountaineering 
will sympathize with the enterprising engineer, 
who, after all his struggles with elevation and 
climate, had to turn back. 

On their return to the hut the stern guide 
allowed them to partake of much-needed 
refreshment, which they thoroughly enjoyed, 
The next morning they were up quite as 
early as on the preceding day, and as the 
weather seemed more propitious they started 
on their way ; but they got very little farther 
than on their first attempt, before they were 
overtaken by another blizzard and were 
again cruelly forced to return to the rouL>h 
little hut. The third day, unfortunately, did 
not bring better luck, for the snow was 
descending in masses at the hour appointed 
for the start, and consequently they never 
left their primitive quarters at all. 

It must have been very annoying, heart 
breaking almost, to make two attempts and 
wait a third day in idleness but these are the 
sort of drawbacks 
that happen to 
travellers. In 
Mexico it is not so 
bad as elsewhere t 
as the native 
Indians are the 
most interesting 
people. They 
btlieve in witches 
and devils, have 
the quaintest ideas 
about evil spirits 
and many other 
subjects, and to 
a man like Mr. 
Toomer, who is 
an excellent 
Spanish scholar 
ab well as an 

interested traveller, they open out and do 
their best to amuse. The different tribes 
speak various languages of their own, but 
Spanish being the language of civilized 
society, many of the Indians are able to 
converse in that tongue. So, although it 
sounds dull to be shut up in a room 15ft. 
by i oft. with half-a-dozen natives for several 
days, while storm raged without, Mr, Toomer* 
no doubt, had quite an interesting time. 

Happily, luck attended the party on the 
fifth day, and they reached the top in safety. 

The famous volcano of Popocatepetl 
raises its proud head nearly 18,000ft. above 
the sea, and the crater is 1,575ft. in diameter, 
and supposed to be something like t, 300ft. 
deep. Figures give but a poor idea of size to 
the uninitiated ; suffice it to say that the 
basin is of enormous dimensions. 

''What did it look like when you stood at 
the top ? " I asked the adventurous traveller. 

" From the edge on which we stood we 
peered down some 300ft., forming a sheer 
precipice of basalt rock, at the bottom of 
which there was a ledge 3ft* or 4ft. wide 
running round part of the basin. From 
there the debris of ages had rolled con- 
tinuously down the crater until it had filled it 
Lap into a funnel shape, leaving its sides at 
an angle of about forty-five degrees. All 
this rock and scoria, the snow and ice of 
thousands of years, had frozen, for to all 
practical purposes the volcano is extinct ; 
that is to say, there have been no eruptions 
for centuries, although smoke and steam and 
bubbling fire continue, and have been more 
noticeable since the eruption at Martinique. 

"At the mouLh ot the crater stood an old 
windlass or winch, a very crude sort of 

br&m a ] 




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arrangement, erected by the Indians for the 
purpose of letting down their most daring 
friends to fetch the raw sulphur, 

" Hanging from the windlass was an old 
rope, made of native fibre; the whole con- 
cern was extremely dilapidated in appear- 
ance, and the rope did not look particularly 
strong r but as there was no other means of 
reaching the bottom I had to trust myself 
to it and make the venture. The Indians 
placed a sort of sling round my body, under 
my arms, and round my thighs, in which I 
sat T and then, telling me to swing myself 
out into space, they 
proceeded to let me 
down. It was 
curious sen- 
sation. The 
squeaks of that 
old windlass 
above were 
echoed in the 
depth of the 
crater, I dan^ 
gled in the air 
and swayed 
from side to 
side, bumping 
now and again 
against gigan- 
tic icicles, and 
only prevent- 
ing injuries by 
kicking out 
with my feet or 
a push with 
my hands, 

"What an 
awiul distance 
it looked 
below ! There 
was nearly 
i,oooft. of 
cavern beneath 
me over which 
I was swinging. 
Down, down, 
down I went 
until the men 
and the wind- 
lass above be- 
c a m e mere 
specks, the air 
seemed to 
grow warmer, 
and I almost 
wished I had 
never come. 

C"l DA _ 



Then my feet touched the rocky ledge and I 
could stand again, I was quickly joined by 
the two Indians who were to continue the 
journey with me, the rest of the party remain- 
ing above. They were armed with picks and 
hatchets* and at once proceeded to cut steps 
in the frozen snow to enable us to reach the 
bottom of the crater. 1 suppose they must 
have made about a thousand of those steps, 
which I scrambled along after them as soon 
as there was foothold. 

u By the time we reached the bottom it was 
about three o'clock, so I had time for three 
hours* investigation of the 
far-famed deposits of the 
crater. Night was now 
drawing on, and we could 
no longer see the other 
Indians, who had retired 
to the edge of 
t h e crater 
before they 
started back 
to a place of 
shelter for the 
night, They 
were to return 
to fetch us and 
wind ue up in 
the morning." 
What an 
po sit ion for an 
Englishman to 
be in ! He was 
to spend the 
night atone 
with two swar- 
thy descend- 
ants of the 
Aztec racy — 
of which there 
are still half a" 
million repre- 
sentatives in 
Mexico — 
down, far away 
down in the 
interior of the 
earth ! The 
Indians had 
been there 
before, but had 
never dreamed 
of doing any- 
thing so weird 
as to pass a night below. 
Such a performance as 
s | ^appeared to them 




madness, and was only shared by them after 
considerable bribery. The Mexican Indian, 
however, will do a good deal for the dollars 
with which he can procure pulque — the native 
drink— or gamble. He is a kindly soul unless 
fired by drink, and then he can become a 
veritable fiend. Never, never have I seen 
people so excitedly drunk as in Mexico, 
where the milk of the maguey plant seems 
to fire their brains and distort their fancies. 

It must have been a creepy sort of ex- 
perience to roll up in a blanket and prepare 
to rest, especially as the Indians had arranged 
to stay reluctantly, and were consequently 
not in the best of tempers. It must have 
been horribly weird with each hour of the 
darkening night to watch the blow-holes of 
fire and flame grow brighter, to peer into the 
darkness around, the black inky distance, to 
listen to the hissing fire and watch the flicker- 
ing flames throwing strange shadows. There 
are several of these blow-holes of spouting 
fire, and, as Mr. Toomer remarked : — 

"Their pulsating pouf, pouf, pouf sounded 
like the heavy breathing of some prehistoric 
monster, whose breath, sulphurous and 
yellow, faded away in dim clouds of mist 
above the blazing caldron. It was easy to 
conjure up all sorts of weird things in that 
strange spot. Now and then we heard a 
rumble or a crash as some great boulder or 
block rolled down the sides of the crater and 
found its last resting-place in the cone-like 
bottom where we sat. One of these would 
have been our death had we not sought pro- 
tection beneath two gigantic crags which 
stand in the middle of the basin." 

" How dared you sleep ? " I asked. 

"Sleep? One could hardly sleep much, 
in spite of fatigue, in such surroundings ; 
the sulphur was too strong for that. Every 
moment it seemed to become stronger, and 
my lungs laboured more and more against 
the fumes. It was horribly cold, and yet 
when standing near the blow-holes the heat 
was tremendous; besides, the fumes of the 
sulphur were almost insupportable. One 
seemed to be peering into the infernal 
regions, to hear the wail of the lost soul in 
Hades and the shriek of the fiend. An extra 
puff from a blow-hole, of which there are 
probably forty or fifty, or a snort, the rumble 
and the crash of rock, made it more weird 
than words can describe ; the depression 
from the sulphur and fatigue were telling on 
me, and I began to feel that, if another snow- 
storm came on and those Indians could not 
return to wind us up, my strength would 
hardly hold put* 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

" I cannot depict the horror of that 
thought ! 

" The first streaks of daylight dawned, the 
first faint flicker of a new-born day gleamed 
above our heads. I continued my investiga- 
tions and took measurements of the crater, 
inspected the sulphur deposits round the 
blow-holes, turned over some of the stones 
forming the bottom of the crater, which 
exposed the yellow flour sulphur beneath 
which was solid rock sulphur, and tired, but 
happy, felt my work was completed, and then 
— oh, joy of it ! — we saw, 1,300ft. above our 
heads, the Indians who had returned to fetch 
us waving their arms, to show us they were 
there. The night was over, the work accom- 
plished, but how dizzy and strange I felt as I 
clambered with difficulty up those snow steps 
which the Indian guides had cut, to the spot 
where the loose rope was waiting. 

" c The senor is not well,' cried one of the 
guides, ' the sulphur has been too much ' ; 
and he and his companion quickly pushed 
my body through the noose, and then I felt 
myself ascending, ascending. What was this 
terrible feeling of depression ? It seemed to 
be growing every moment. Was I losing 
consciousness, or what? Then in my 
half-stupefied condition I realized that the 
Indians had not fixed the noose properly, 
and the cords were pressing upon my 
chest and were being tightened by my 
own weight, to the discomfort of my poor 
labouring lungs. It seemed as though I 
should never reach the top. How slowly 
those men on the ledge worked the winch ! 
Things began to swim, and the icicles — 
which had been bad enough going down — 
were a thousand times worse coming up, for 
their sharp, jagged points caught me in my 
ascent, and my legs were too tightly bound 
to enable me to keep off from the edges of 
the crater. My ears began to sing,. the walls 
of the crater seemed to be closing in upon 
me, those blow-holes below roared more dis- 
tinctly, and then they seemed to stop : every- 
thing seemed to stop, a sort of hazy dulness 
came upon me, a suffocating feeling that I 
could not breathe, and then ! . . . . 

" I found myself lying on the snow on the 
edge of the crater, near the winch, an Indian 
standing over me pouring aguardienta— a 
Mexican stimulant— down my throat. The 
physical fatigue, the mental strain, the want 
of food and sleep, the sulphurous fumes, and 
the altitude had been too much for me ; but 
not for long, and by the time the other two 
guides reached the ridge I was all right 
again. How beautiful it all looked, hpw 




clear, how bright, and even at the altitude of 
so many thousand feet the air seemed pure 
and fresh compared to the stifling atmosphere 
of the sulphur caldron below," 

The story was simply told — Mr. Toomer 
claimed no credit to himself for any part of the 
adventure. He undertook a piece of work 
and did it — that was all, according to his 
account ; but was it all ? Did it not show 
the pluck of the man, the powers of endur- 
ance, the dogged determina- 
tion of the Englishman to 
accomplish whatever lay be- 
fore him ? It is such men 
as this of whom a country is 
proud \ it is our engineers 
who have done so much 
towards planting the British 
flag in many lands and have 
brought respect and admira- 
tion in its wake. 

The tall, well-made man 
before me told his tale so 
simply, yet I felt what agony 
of mind had lain behind, 
what physical torture those 
sulphur fumes meant, I 
knew his capacity, for only 
a year earlier I had seen him 
jump overboard a grounded 
steamer in one of those 
rivers of Southern Mexico, 
in which I was travelling with 
sixteen gentlemen — includ- 
ing Mexican ministers, engi- 
neers, etc, on an inspection 
trip — and, taking a long pole 
in his hand, help and direct 
the native sailors to get our 
boat off a sand-bank on which 
she had stuck. He worked 
for hours in the water, which 
sometimes reached his arm- 
pits, directing here, arranging 
there, or giving a hand him- 
self somewhere else. He 
worked harder than any native — he, a 
Kuropcan in a tropical land. He is not a 
man easily daunted, or he would never have 
spent a night in the crater of a volcano, 

"How did you ever get down the mountain 
again?" I inquired. 

11 Oh, that was easy enough ; the horror 
was over, the mission accomplished, and the 
delightful and perhaps the most exciting 
moment was then to begin. Placing our 
selves on little native grass mats, just the 

sort of mat that the Indian uses for carrying 
his load of sulphur, we tobogganed to the 
bottom. An Aztec placed himself in front 
of me, I sat immediately behind him with 
my legs round his body, and with a wild 
whoop we were off, The pace was splendid, 
it was like an express train as we sped 
over the freshly -fallen snow, and in a few 
minutes had actually passed the snow-line. 
It had taken us five hours to go up, it 


took us five minutes to come down, and then 
we were speeding somewhat less quickly into 
the sand. A few minutes only, and we had 
descended several thousand feet ; but, as we 
got lower, bumps and thumps over the sand 
with its rocky excrescences made it necessary 
to relinquish the mat and walk. Thoroughly 
revived by the fresh air and exhilarating 
descent, we were heartily ready for a meal 

ufh.T thi: wrml wurnlrTS of a night spent in 

the crater of a volcano." 

by Google 

Original from 


NY break in the monotony of 
life in the little seaside village 
of Pygwyllion was rare, and 
when posters were put up 
stating that Professor Schlaf- 
macher, of Berlin, the re- 
nowned hypnotist, would give a lecture in 
the schoolroom, and exemplify his powers on 
any who cared to go upon the stage, there 
was considerable excitement amongst all the 
population. All, rhat is to say, except 
Captain John Tompkins and myself, Robert 
Jones, both late of the merchant service. 
We had each, on our retirement, settled 
down in this remote little place, where 1 had 
purchased a small cottage, whilst Tompkins 
boarded in the schoolmaster's house. We 
had not previously known each other, but we 
naturally soon became acquainted, and our 
having been in the same profession* together 
with a community of taste in tobacco and 
other matters, had in the course of seven 
years ripened the acquaintance into a close 
friendship, and a day seldom passed in which 

Vol, xx'iv.-2t 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 

we were not to be seen in one another's 
company. Tompkins and I had, of course, 
seen a good deal of the world in our way, 
and we rather prided ourselves on being 
hard headed, practical men of experience, 
who could see as far as most people and 
were not to be imposed on. Therefore, when 
the rest of the village was anxiously looking 
forward to the approaching lecture we re- 
mained calm and unmoved, took our pipes, 
grog, and walks as usual, and betrayed no 

We talked about it to one another, though. 
" Ever seen any of this hypnotism. Bob ? ,J 
asked Tompkins. I said I had once been to 
a performance where a man had pretended 
to mesmerize a woman, and made her tell 
how many shillings someone in the audience 
— a confederate, no doubt — had in his 
pocket, and so on, 1( AH arranged before- 
hand, of course,"' I concluded. 

u Nothing genuine, eh ? J? 

" H ell, not quite that, perhaps. He got 
two girls up on the stage and gave them 

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some beans, which he said were chocolate 
creams, and just as they were going to eat 
them he told them they were black beetles, 
and, by Jove ! you should have seen them 
drop those beans and jump on the chairs 
and shake themselves. I think that was 
genuine. They looked a mighty weak- 
minded lot." 

" That sort of thing wouldn't do with you 
and me, would it, Bob ? " 

" Not much," said I. " I should like to 
come across the man who could hypnotize 
either of us, Jack ! " 

" It wouldn't be a bad joke to go and see 
the show, would it ? " said he. 

" Ail right," said I. " Let's go." And so, 
when the afternoon arrived, to the astonish- 
ment probably of many of the audience, 
Tompkins and myself put in an appearance. 

Punctually to the moment the lecturer 
stepped on to the platform. He was a man 
of about forty-five, or perhaps fifty, and there 
was nothing remarkable about him except his 
eyes, which had a peculiar expression of 
depth which I cannot attempt to describe. 
I had never seen any eyes like them. He 
spoke in very good English with somewhat of 
a foreign accent, and his manner was perfectly 
quiet and free from affectation. In a few 
opening remarks he explained that he trusted 
we should not regard him as wishing to 
impose on us by any deception, but simply 
as the exponent of certain powers possessed, 
more or less, by all, but little known and less 
cultivated, which were capable of working 
the greatest benefits to the world when pro- 
perly exercised. Any confederation was, as 
we could see for ourselves, impossible, since 
the whole audience were practically known 
to one another, and it was from them only 
that the subjects of his experiments would 
be taken. He begged us to judge what we 
might see with impartiality, and then to ask 
ourselves whether he was in any sense 
exaggerating the tremendous possibilities 
which might result from a more general 
and intelligent recognition of his science. 

The lecturer then asked that some of the 
audience would come on to the stage. As 
there seemed to be some hesitation in com- 
plying with this, he said, " Perhaps there is 
some lady present who will play us a little 
tune upon the piano ? Will anyone be so 
kind ? " 

Hereupon a little girl, the daughter of the 
schoolmaster, stepped forward, after some 
urging from her mother, and was helped on 
to the platform by the prottroor. He opened 
the piano and placed a seat for her. But 

by \j 



here a hitch occurred. It appeared that the 
intending performer could not recollect her 
piece, and her music was at home. 

" Ach ! that is very awkward," said the 
professor. " But, tell me, is your music in 
a book ? " 

She said it was, in a book " about so big " 
(holding out her hands), and with a green 

There were some books on a shelf near 
the piano, and the professor, taking down 
one of about the size described, with a brown 
cover, on which was inscribed in large letters, 
" Copy • Book," placed it before her, and, 
touching her head lightly with his hand, said, 
" Is this not the same book as yours ? 
Yes ? That is very fortunate. Will you 
please find the place, for you see I do not 
know which is your tune ? " The little girl 
turned over six or seven pages rapidly, and 
then, keeping her eyes fixed on a statement, in 
large text hand, that "Honesty is the best 
policy," played her little tune through care- 
fully and correctly. When she had finished 
the lecturer thanked her politely, and, taking 
her hand, led her to the steps. 

"I think," he then said, "that the piano 
will perhaps be in the way of the per- 
formances presently. Will anyone be so 
good as to help me to move it back a little? " 

Two hulking youths at once started 
forward ; but, to our great astonishment, 
no sooner had they mounted the platform 
than one immediately thrust his hand into 
his waistcoat after the manner of a sling, 
whilst the other limped to the nearest chair 
and, sitting down, put one foot on his knee 
and nursed it most tenderly ; the faces of 
both wearing an expression of intense pain. 

"Dear me," said the professor, "this is 
very sad, and so very sudden ! Please let 
me look at your foot" He went to the youth 
on the chair, and after looking at him a 
moment said, " My young friend, you are 
either very foolish &r you play a little joke 
on me. You have not hurt this foot at all. 
It is the other one that pains you." Instantly 
the young man dropped the foot to the 
ground with a crash of his heavy boot, and 
seizing the other i ne placed it most gingerly 
over the other knee, whilst he groaned 

"That is better," said the professor; "and 
now, my friend, let me see your wrist. Ach ! 
yes ! I must make you a proper sling for it." 
He turned away for an instant, and then, 
facing them again, said, pointing to a corner 
of the stage, " Will you please move the 
piano over there ? I think that will be the 

Original from 



best place;" Both youths at once jumped 
up, and the instrument was placed in the 
disired position ; after which they returned 
10 their seats in the room, apparently 
wondering what on earth there could be to 
e\cite the roars of laughter in which the 
audience indulged. 

I cannot give an account of all the experi- 
ments. Suffice it to say that people were 
made to shiver with cold, or wipe their fore- 
heads from heat; that they shot imaginary 
t.Krnrs with walking sticks, and ran from 
visionary mad dogs. Those sang, or at least 
tried to, who never sang before ; and the 
sexton, a pretematurally solemn person. 


danced a hornpipe on the table. Tompkins 
and I regarded it all with openly superior 
smiles. The professor had got a wonder- 
fully soft lot ! 

After about an hour the lecturer again 
addressed us. Though such exhibitions 
might seem, he said, to some of us to have 
something of the marvellous about them, 
there was, he assured us, nothing of the sort 

by Google 

in reality. All the results which we had seen 
were caused merely by the imposition of his 
will for the time on the person operated on. 
The strength of the will-power, like the 
strength of the muscles, could be greatly 
developed by constant practice. At the 
same time, as a very strong man might at 
some period or other be confronted with one 
still stronger, so it might happen that 
the trained hypnotist might meet with 
a subject with will - power equal to or 
greater than his own, over whom he might 
fail to exercise any influence. Such an 
occurrence at a lecture like the present 
was , of course, inconvenient ; but anv 
genuine professor of hypnotism 
who, as it were, challenged a whole 
audience must be, of course, pre- 
pared to face the possibility. Ad 
mitting the power of the operator 
to he sufficient, he desired to call 
our attention to the fact that as it 
was possible, as we had seen, to 
induce sensations of pain, it 
was also possible in many 
cases to remove it by the same 
agency, often permanently. 
Such cures were, however, not 
suitable for public exhibition, 
and he was happy to think, 
judging from their appearance, 
that his present audience were 
not in need of such treatment. 
This was, however, a most 
important part of his science, 
and one which ought to 
receive far more attention 
than had been at present 
accorded to it. Time was 
drawing on, and he must 
shortly leave ; but he had 
still some minutes to spare, 
and would be pleased to see 
a few more of the audience 
on the stage, if any were dis- 
posed to come. 

** Bob," whispered Tomp- 
kins, ** I'm going up." 

"Right, old man," said I. 
u I'm with you/' 
The professor bowed politely as we ap- 
peared on the platform, but looked at us, 
I thought, doubtfully, as at possibly difficult 

u Kindly be seated, gentlemen," he said* 

We took chairs on either side of the 

stage, and facing one another. The professor 

kept us waiting whilst he was apparently 

looking for something in his pockets* He 

Original from 




didn't seem to find it, and I got so tired of 
waiting to be operated on that I closed my 
eyes. I fancy thai, strangely enough, I must 
have dozed off for a moment, for I woke 
up with a start just in time to see Tompkins 
open his eyes and stare at me + Just then 
the professor spoke. 

'* I am extremely sorry, gentlemen, but I 
find that I have mistaken the time. Allow 
me to ask your pardon, and to express my 
great regret for I he trouble I have given you ; 
I trust you will excuse me. 31 

Of course, we returned to our seats, and 
the professor, after briefly thanking the 
audience for their attention, hurried out to 
his cab and drove off to the nearest station, 

'* Thought he wouldn't tackle us. Bob," 
said Tompkins, when we got outside, 
" Wouldn't have clone to fail just at the 
end* All bunkum 
about the time, you 
know. Had a quarter 
of an hour more, easy," 
I agreed with him. In- 
deedj it was such a pal- 
pable case of running 
away that I felt quite 
sorry for the professor, 

If I live to be a 
hundred I shall never 
forget the awakening 
the following morning : 
the first drowsy feeling 
that something had 
gone wrong, the clearer 
impression that the 
something was very 
serious, and then the 
full recollection of the 
whole horror. Could 
it be but a dream? 
Alas ! no. Too well 
did I recall the dreadful 
details. 1 sat up in 
bed, and the whole 
ghastly sequence of 
events repeated itself, 

I had gone to bed, and to sleep, but had 
woke again. I had looked at my watch. It 
was just after eleven, I felt wide awake, and 
after tossing about restlessly a short time I 
determined, finding sleep impossible, to go 
out for a stroll. 1 dressed, and let myself 
quietly out, I walked on slowly, without 
thinking where I was going, till I found 
myself on the small wooden pier that runs 
out into the bay — a favourite resort of 
Tompkins and myself. What wps my 

astonishment to see Tompkins standing 
there. He explained that he, like myself, 
could not sleep, and preferred strolling out 
to a wakeful night in bed. I was very glad 
to see him, and we walked up and down 
and smoked together The night was fairly 
light, but somewhat cloudy. Our conversa- 
tion turned presently on the lecture that 

" You did get just a little bit queer when 
you were on the stage, though, didn't you ? '' 
said Tompkins. 

11 What do you mean?" said I. 

11 Why, you shut your eyes," said he. 

" I didn't/ 1 said I — but I knew this was 
not true. 

" I saw you," said he. 

"I saw you open yours/' said I, 

" Vou didn't, 3 ' said he. 




" I did," said I, 

" That's a lie, 1 ' said he. And then some 
devil got hold of me, and — we were walking 
by the edge of the pier and Tompkins was 
on the outside 1 gave hini a push, and over 
he went into two fathoms cjf water. 

He couldn't swim, and I can't either, and 
he fell too far out for me to reach him, even 
had I tried. But I didn't. I must have 
been mad,, I suppose, I just stood there and 
saw him go under once, twice, and the third 

Original from 



time. The clock struck twelve as he sank 
finally. And then I had walked home and 
gone to bed. 

This was the recollection the morning 
brought me — I had committed a foul and 
dastardly murder. I had slain one who was 
as a brother to me, and the brand of Cain 
was on me for ever. 

How I got up and dressed I don't know. 
My brain was all in a whirl, the one clear 
idea being that I must try to conceal my 
crime. There were no witnesses. No one 
had seen me go out or come in, and if 
Tompkins's body were found there was no 
reason for supposing he had been thrown in 
by anybody at all. He might very easily 
have fallen in. No ; I had only to keep 
cool and collected, and no suspicion could 
possibly attach to me. If anyone were sus- 
pected, it would certainly not be his best 

I nerved myself, therefore, to swallow some 
breakfast, after which I took my hat and coat 
and told my servant I was going over for the 
day to the neighbouring town, where I had a 
little business to attend to. I actually forced 
myself to turn back, as if by an afterthought, 
and say that if Captain Tompkins should call 
he was to be told that I might not be home 
till late, but would see him in the morning. 
Once clear of the village I walked as if my 
life depended on it. Where I went I hardly 
know. I believe I had some food some- 
where, but it was mostly walk, walk all day. 
I knew I must return at night, and intuitively 
I made my way back in the evening. 

And then, as I neared the village, came 
the awful feeling that I must go down to the 
pier and see if Tompkins's body were there. 
It was late for Pygwyllion— about ten — and 
there would be no one about. The more I 
resisted this gruesome impulse the stronger 
did it grow. The hideous attraction that the 
scene of his crime has for the murderer 
was upon me, and I was compelled to yield 
to it. 

I went down to the pier, and stood there 
with my eyes wide open for any observer, 
and my ears alert for any sound. There was 
neither one nor the other. Except for the 
soft plash of the water all was silent as the 
grave. I hesitated for an instant, and then 
stole softly on to the pier. The structure, 
as explained, was of wood and built on piles, 
and near its outer end there were steps at 
either side leading down to a sort of lower 
platform, used for a landing from boats. It 
was my idea to go down to this platform, where 
I might see the body if, as was very possible, 

by K: 



it had been washed in amongst the piles. I 
climbed carefully and quietly down the 
slippery steps — and there, standing against 
the railing and looking down into the water, 
was a dark form. 

The figure turned its head at the sound of 
my footsteps. Its face was of a ghostly 
pallor, and its features were the features of 
Tompkins. The eyes appeared to me to 
gleam with concentrated hate as it gazed at 
me, and I felt each individual hair of my head 
assume an erect position as 1 stared in turn 
at the awful apparition. 

" Why are you here ? " whispered the 
spectre, in scarcely audible tones, which 
seemed to tremble with rage. "Why are 
you here ? " 

I hardly know how I forced myself to 
reply, but I managed to stammer out, " I 
c— c — came to look for you." 

" To look for me ! " echoed the apparition. 
" Yes ! I have always heard so. There is no 
peace for the murderer. None ! Haunted ! 
Always haunted ! Haunted till he dies from 
the terror. Yes ! day and night I shall see 
you. No darkness can shut from the eye of 
the murderer the presence, the constant 
presence, of his victim's spirit Oh ! the 
horror of it ! " 

I gave a dismal groan. It was awful. 

" I'll go to the police," I began ; but the 
spectre interrupted me. # 

" I shall do that," it said. " You forget 
that they wouldn't see you ; no one sees you 
but me. You're dead, you know : since last 
night, when I threw you over the pier. I 
saw you go down three times ; and I never 
even tried to save you, when perhaps I might 
have done so. But I'll give myself up in the 
morning. I'd rather be hanged than haunted. 
And when I am perhaps you'll be at rest." 

The sudden relief I felt was almost too 
much for me. It was evident that it was not 
Tompkins's spirit, but Tompkins in the flesh 
that I had found, and I was therefore not a 
murderer in fact, although I certainly had 
been one in intention. On the other hand, 
it was clear that Tompkins, having in some 
way got out of the water (although I could 
have sworn I saw him drown), had lost his 
wits from the shock and become insane. 
This, however, was my salvation, for so long 
as he imagined himself to be the murderer 
and not the intended victim, as he really 
was, he certainly would not bring any charge 
against me. It was evidently my cue to 
avoid in any way disturbing this illusion, 
and, indeed, to foster it carefully. I should 
have, to explain to him that I was not dead, 

Original from 

1 66 


but had escaped in some extraordinary way* 
Thereupon Tompkins would fall on my neck 
and shed tears of joy, whilst 1 should 
magnanimously forgive him and he would 
remain indebted to me for life. It seemed 
perfectly simple, I began at once t in a 
solemn voice. 

" Why did you throw me off the pier last 

"Torture me not," cried Tompkins, in a 
tone of agony* " I know you will haunt me 
till I'm hanged, but don't keep on like this. 

I — er — that I learnt to swim— er— last week, 
and that I — er — dived, just to frighten you — 
and climbed out when you went away ? n 

14 Don't mock me," cried Tompkins, 
reproachfully. " I murdered you. You're 
dead ; and I'm going to give myself up. 11 

"Urn not dead," I said. 

" You are," he persisted. 

" Feel my hand," said l t and I made a 
step towards him. 

He recoiled in horror. " Keep off! " he 
almost screamed. "I won't! I can't! 


It's not regular. You oughtn't to speak. 
Dead people don't talk, you know." 

"Answer me, JJ I replied. I4 I command 

" You know very well," said he. "We 
quarrelled about that show yesterday, and 
you told me I'd been to sleep on the stage, 
and I mid you it was a lie ; and then you 
said^ - but what is the use of going over it 
again? I threw you in, and you're dead." 

"What would you give to know I was 
alive ? " said I. 

"Give? Why, anything. But you're as 
dead as Moses, yon know. You can't swim 
—I mean j you couldn't when you were 

"Tompkins," I said, "would you be 
surprised to hear that I'm not dead? That 




You're only an appearance. You ought to 
vanish now and let me go home, and then 
come in the night again and stand over me, 
You shouldn't go on this way," 

" Look here," I said t rather loudly, for I 
was getting irritated — a man who insists on 
calling himself a murderer when the body 
is alive and wanting to shake hands with 
him is an annoying person — "don't call me 
an appearance. I'm as solid as you are. 
What's this? "and I sprang on him suddenly 
and gave him a couple of smart blows on 
the chest, 

Now this kind of thing is not usually 
soothing in effect, but the look of intense 
relief that came over Tompkins's face as he 
received the thumps I have never seen 
equalled. The deadly pallor fled ; and, if 

Original from 




he did not literally fall on my neck, he wrung 
my hands till they ached, and the moonlight 
showed something very like tears in his 

Soon, however, his face fell. " Bob, old 
man," he said, sadly, " I meant to drown you. 
It's no credit to me that you're alive. I shall 
go and give myself up for attempted murder." 

" Don't be an idiot," I returned. " You 
haven't any proof. You don't suppose I'm 
going to charge you, do you ? " 

" You must," he said. 

" Must, be blowed," said I. "There is no 
harm done. That sort of thing is quite 
common — amongst friends. A little temper, 
that's all. Why, I might have done it to 
you, instead." 

"Aren't you going to do anything, then ?" 
he asked, doubtfully. 

"Yes," I said, "I am. I'm going home 
to have a drink, and you're coming with 

And so it happened that, ten minutes later, 
two retired merchant skippers, each of whom 
regarded himself as the would-be murderer of 
the other, might have been seen marching 
amicably up the little street of Pygwyllion, 
arm in arm, to the residence of one of them, 
on liquid refreshment bent 

On arriving at my cottage I called to my 
old servant, Mary, to bring whisky and 
glasses. Now, Mary had lived with us 
during my wife's lifetime, and remained with 
me ever since, and on the strength of long 
service claimed privileges, one of which was 
to find fault with me whenever she pleased — 
which, to tell the truth, was pretty frequently. 
She always insisted on remaining up till I 
was at home and, as she considered, safe for 
the night, and held ideas about late hours 
which she made no scruple of expressing. 
Possibly my tone of voice was lacking in that 
humility suitable to a return home somewhat 
later than usual, and exhibited inappropriate 
cheerfulness. When a man suddenly finds 
that he has not committed a murder of 
which he believed himself guilty, and that, 
moreover, he is not to be called to account 
even for the attempt, there is undoubtedly 
something inspiriting in the situation, and it 
is possible that my voice may have been 
unduly jubilant. At any rate, old Mary 
appeared to think so. She set the bottle 
and glasses on the table with as much bang- 
ing as was consistent with their safety, and 
delivered herself of the following : — 

" A nice hour for a respectable gentleman 
to come home, Captain Jones, certainly ! 
And I suppose you'll be sitting up the best 

by \j, 



of the night now. You'd better make the 
most of the whisky ; there's no more. And 
for goodness' sake don't forget to bolt the 
door after you've let Captain Tompkins out. 
Perhaps he'll sleep on the sofa, though. And 
when you do go to bed I hope you'll make 
less noise than you did last night, keeping 
me awake with your snoring and grunting 
and talking in your sleep till the clock 
struck twelve. And now I'll wish you good- 

" Did you h-ar that, Bob? " said Tompkins, 
when she had gone. " Old lady had the 
nightmare badly. Why, at twelve o'clock 
last night you were just drow — I mean 
diving — down by the jetty." 

" Never mind that, old man," said I. " It's 
all over. Take some grog." 

Now, what glorious luck ! I thought to 
myself. If my dear friend here should ever, 
which Heaven forbid, find out the rights of 
the matter, what a witness for an alibi ! Un- 
solicited testimony to my being at home. 
And the old girl would swear to it with the 
best conscience. 

" Bob, old chap, here's your health, and 
Heaven bless you for a kind-hearted 

Just then old Mary put her head in at the 
door and snapped out, as she threw a letter 
on the table, " This came for you this even- 
ing ; I forgot it." 

VVhen the door was closed I took the 
letter up and examined it. It was addressed 
in a strange hand, and bore the postmark of 
a town some miles distant. On opening the 
envelope an inner cover appeared, on which 
was the following inscription : — 

"To Captains Jones and Tompkins, 
" Pygwyllion. 

" The writer begs that the enclosed may 
be read by the above-named gentlemen in 
the presence of each other." 

The letter itself I here give in full :— 

"Gentlemen,— In adopting the profession 
of a hypnotist, I did so not so much as a 
means of making money as from a desire to 
benefit my fellow-creatures, and to bring about 
a more extended belief in the marvellous 
powers of an art in relation to which such 
general ignorance prevails. With this end in 
view it has been my custom often to visit 
small towns and villages where the very 
existence of the science was perhaps unknown. 
It has been my good fortune to open the eyes 
of many to the enormous benefits offered to 
the human race by the legitimate practice of 
my profession, and I am thankful to say that 
I have in many cases effected radical cure? 
Original from 



when the patient had been given up by the 
faculty. Towards honest, if sceptical, inquiry 
I have always been patient ; but to the pig- 
headed, obstinate self-sufficiency of half- 
educated people -like yourselves, gentlemen 
— I have sometimes, as in your case, adminis- 
tered a sharp lesson. I will explain myself. 
When you came on the stage last night you 
did so in obedience to the exercise of my 
will, although you did not think so ; and I 
may here inform you that you proved your- 
selves two of the easiest subjects to influence 
that I have met with. The smallest exertion 
only on my part was necessary, I must 
call to your recollect ion that you both felt 
a momentary sensation of sleepiness, after 
which I apologized for dismissing you. That 
instant, gentlemen, allowed me to impress on 
your minds (which in such matters are ab 
normally weak) 
the idea that 
each of you had 
murdered his 
friend by throw- 
ing him off the 
jetiy. But this 
is not all. I 
willed that this 
should not come 
into force until 

you were asleep last night; Whether this 
has happened as 1 intended I leave it to your- 
selves to say- I fear you may,, perhaps, have 
been inconvenienced, but I can assure you 
that after the receipt of this letter you need 
fear no further interference in your affairs 
from me. 

" I will merely add that I should strongly 
advise you not again to oppose your puny 
and untrained wills to a power the extent of 
which your very narrow intellects are quite 
incapable of realizing. In the hands of an 
unscrupulous operator the results to you 
might be much more serious than those 
caused by "Yours faithfully, 

"Karl Schlafmacher, 

" Professor of Hypnotism," 

We looked at one another, but for some 

time nothing was 
said. When at 
length Tomp- 
kins broke the 
silence his 
remark seemed 
to be somewhat 
wanting in rele- 

He said, "Bob, 
my boy, pass the 

by Google 

Original from 


By E. D. Cuming and J. A. Shepherd. 

FAR-AWAY gun-shot reminds 
the wild duck that shooting 
begins to-day, ist August : and 
with a warning word she calls the 
whole fleet of nine inexperienced 
flappers and convoys them to safety in 
among the reeds. 

"The Twelfth" comes round, and the 
maternal grouse, collecting her brood about 
her, makes for the steep hillside ; her idea, 
apparently, is to give the sportsmen a 
" gruelling " over rough, steep ground, that 
they shall not be able to shoot straight. It 
must be a nervous moment for the family 
when mamma peeps over the heather and 
comes down, saying: "That wretched old 
liver and white pointer scents us ; he's stand- 
ing like a rock ! " but they wait until the 
humans come up before they 
go — each for himself and 
Heaven help the hindmost. 

There is unusual stir in 
the bee -hive: all the 

workers, females who don't lay eggs, are 
moving around with an air of eager senten- 
tious rectitude tempered by display of 
pocket-handkerchief ; and all the drones, 
males who do not work, but without whom 
the species would die out in one season, are 
standing about in sullen resignation. The 
word has gone forth and the drones are to 
be executed to-day. u It is our duty," say 
the worker bees, firmly but tearfully ; and 
they take the drones, one after another, sting 
them to death, and throw their bodies out of 
doors for disposal as beetles, ants, and mice 
may think fit. It is strange that such a 
barbarous practice should obtain in highly- 
civilized society, the more so when we 
remember that the queen bee, in the exercise 
of an enviable prerogative, can lay as many or 
as few drone - producing 
fc^^ eggs as she pleases. The 

!p| 9** bumble-bees are busy as 

r K usual. The bumble-bee 

^ : i^ occasionally varies industry 

Vol. xxiy.— 22. 




Original from 




with over-indulgence, but habitual intoxica- 
tion is unknown ; for this excellent reason, 
that be who weakly yields to the seduction of 
such strong waters as the honey-dew on the 
lime-leaf falls drunk and incapable to the 
ground and die* without a chance of re- 

The only reason for referring here to the 
angler is that most people make acquaintance 
with his remains in August. The angler 
looks as though he had escaped from a 
sailor's nightmare or the property-room at 
Drury I^ane. Starting from a very presentable 
tail the fish widens steadily, to concentrate 
all his physical powers in 

a grin of the broadest ; 

a ghastly grin it is, too. 
Nature in sportive mood 
set upon the head of the 
fish a filament like a limp 


driving whip with a rag 
lash ; and from this instru- 
ment and the use the owner 
makes of it the angler 
obtains his name, 

Why Nature, when she furnished 
us with lx>th a rod and line, 

Could not complete the otitfit 
nor afford ua chance to ask it, 

Has always been a. mystery 10 
me and friends of mine, 

Who have to go a-fishing with- 
out landing-net or basket. 

AVe do our Utile besl T of ; 

each by some rocky shelf 
Siis dangling om his little bait 

where liitle fishes swim. 
Each contemplative angler is a 

liasket for himself, 
And never ceases fishing till he's 

filled him to the brim. 

He has an equally cordial 
welcome for a dead cat or 
a ship's mop. His inhospit- 
able portals are always 
open, and this, when he 
comes beach wards, works 
The receding waves carry 
quantities of sand into his mouth and the 
Litlu goes out leaving him stranded, a pitiable 
example of sand ballast misapplied. 

The cuckoos are packing up to go south j 
they have so much confidence in the nurses 
who took charge of their children that they 
need not wait The young cuckoos will find 
their own way to Africa as their parents and 
grandparents did, The good people of 
Borrowdale, in Cumberland, are said to have 
attempted to detain the cuckoo for the winter 
by building a wall ; which proceeding, if true, 
said more for the hearts than the heads of 

the Borrowdalians. 
Many of our song- 
birds have moulted 
now and are begin- 
ning to recover 
spirits, though 

his undoing. 








there is little singing done* Birds who 
Jeave early for the south put off chang- 
ing their clothes till they reach their 
destination, preferring, like sensible people, 
to travel in shabby comfort ; the cuckoos, 
for instance, do not change before they 
go^ nor does the swallow. The flight 
feathers of the wings are shed in pairs, 
and as a bird must be fully equipped 
for such a long journey it must postpone 
moulting if it has to leave early in the 
autumn. The young robins are putting on 
their red waistcoats and the appropriate airs 
and graces ; till his first moult the young 
cock wears a spotted waistcoat, I^ate indi- 
viduals of vari- 
ous species have 
eggs or children 
to occupy their 
time. The ring- 
ouzels are still 
weighed down 
with nursery 
cares if they 
decided to rear 
a second brood ; 
the house- martin 
and the yellow- 
hammer are en- 
gaged with family 
number two; the 
stock dove who, 
like the shelduck 
and puffin, has 
a fancy for billet- 

ing herself on a rabbit, may still # be 
tending her twins in the burrow. It must 
be an irritating thing for the rabbit to 
come home and find the lodger giving her 
children tea in the passage , so that he cannot 
get beyond his own hall-door mat. The 
kittiwake gulls, dilatory creatures, have pro- 
bably still some children in arms to look 

The octopa -pardon the convenient inac- 
curacy -has hatched out the ropes of eggs 
she has been watching over so jealously for 
the last fifty days in the rocky retreat she 
calls her nest ; the youngsters are lively, but, 
being no larger than fleas at birth, are likely 

to escape notice 
for some time 
to come. The 
maternal octopus 
gives herself 
up so whole- 
heartedly to her 
nursery duties, 
which consist 
chiefly of sitting 
still and blowing 
water over the 

egg - ropes, 


her health suffers; 
and by the time 
the children are 
born she is not 
the creature she 
was when, newly 
UUBHWl rom wedded, she left 






home with her husband in June. The 
sternest octopus papa must feel himself 
at a loss if once a wayward daughter and 
her lover hurl themselves into each other's 
arms : — 

What can I do? Eight sums on either side 
Make more a Gordian than a lovers* knot, 

I can't undo it, hard a* I have tried, 

I must consent lo give him what he's got. 

Bless you, then, children ! Stem 
those fltHKls of — tears* 
Conscience must prick you very 
hard, I think ; 
Don't fog the water round you thus, 
my dears, 
Surely betrothals are not sealed 
with— ink, 

The octopus, as a rule, is 
sparing of his ink, and does 
not discharge it without good 
reason. His relative, the 
cuttlefish, on the other hand, 
will envelop himself in a cloud 
of the very best sepia if you 
even look at him — this ex- 
travagance is the outcome of 
shyness. Stranded on the 
beach you may occasionally find 
the shrunken remains of one 
of the pipe fish — a strange 
creature, like a young eel in 
plate armour with a long tube- 
like snout ending in the small- 
est of undassically-cut mouths. 
The male pipe - fish is the 
victim of Woman's Rights. 
When his wife lays her eggs 

(only a couple of 
hundred, hut pipe- 
fishes have few 
foes, thanks to 
their mail, and 
their nursery 
methods forbid 
needless pro- 
fusion) she makes 
them over to her 
husband, who 
arranges them in 
rows along his 
underside and 
keeps them till 
they hatch out 
The pipe-fish is 
not intelligent. 
He will w r ind his 
prehensile tail 
about any buoy- 
rope or drifting 
stick without 
the elementary precaution of inquiring what 
the thing is : and holds on in foolish faith 
till lifted into boat or stranded on shore. 
The hippocampus, or sea-horse — one of 
Nature's most successful efforts in the gro- 
tesque, by the way— is even more advanced 
than the pipe-fish. The sea-horse is equipped 
with a sac under his tail, and when the sea- 
mare lays her eggs she packs them into that 






and leaves to her mate all the responsibility 
of hatching. Although the sea-horse is thus 
imposed upon by his wife, the pair appear to 
be on the most affectionate terms. They 
hold on to weeds by their tails and cling 
lovingly to one another: Dr, Day has even 
seen them rubbing their heads in a seahorse 
kiss, and has heard them coughing exchange 
of endearments. The amiable porpoise is 
playing leap-frog with a party of friends 
within hail of the beach : porpoise existence 
appears to be one giddy whirl of gratuitous 
acrobatic performance for the benefit of 
visitors to the seaside: this animal — the 
meekest porpoise would resent being 
called a fish— does not go out to sea, pre- 
ferring the excitements, and fish 3 of inshore 
waters, and is equally cheerful and irrepres- 
sible whether you meet him off Greenland 
or in the tepid Mediterranean. 

The wasps are abroad in 
their hundreds: the wasp 
is an intelligent fellow, as 
witness the discretion 
which bids him come out 
of a hole in pear or plum 
business end first ; but his 
selfishness is something 
monumental. When he 
finds food, though there 
be enough to supply a 
thousand wasps for the 
whole summer, he never 
tells a friend — but you 
can read his character for 
yourself any morning on 
the breakfast table: — 

Digitized by \ji 

What says ray brother? In the 
jam you sicik. 
You g r o w m o r e f e e 1 * I e ? 
Death is very near ? 
Your fate's my warning, hut I 
rather think 
That I may safely taste the 
jam from here. 

Let me avoid the *»[>ots l hat 
slkky feel- 
Peace, li miner, peace ! Kc- 
frain from sob and groan ; 
\ am at break fast, don't disturb 
my meal. 
Light on ray breast lie sorrows 
not my own ! 

It is a curious thing, but 
birds appear to enjoy im- 
munity from wasp sting. 
Blackbirds, tits, and mar- 
tins eat them greedily ; 
the two former will 
hang on to the paper- 
like nest and devour the 
insects by the dozen. 

The hen lobster's eggs generally hatch out 
in July or August: for a time she carried 
them — 12,000 or more- — about with her, 
stuck upon the underside of her body, but 
as the "berry" swelled locomotion became 
difficult, and she regretfully buried them in 
the sand. She is an exemplary parent, and 
sometimes keeps about her such of her 
family as survive the perils of infancy till 
they attain to a length of six inches, by which 
time they are hardened enough to face the 
world on their own account. The hen lobster 
produces a family and gets a new dress in 
alternate years : this latter sounds like a hard- 
ship, but no question of hen lobster's rights 
is involved, though the cock does get a new 
suit every August. Changing his or her coat 
of mail is a serious business ; when the old 
one is coming off the patient is sick r sorry, 

■MR. vtasi- DiwreQnsiftilifrjMo 




and retiring. As soon as it is cast 
and the lobster has drawn off the 
last pair of his thigh -boots, he 
devotes all his time and energies 
to growing as fast as he can ; the 
only chance he has of growing is 

"the you kg crawns require new shell-jackets every twelve days— more expense for father prawn/ 

after laying off his old coat and before the 
new mail shall harden, so he grows with a 
will. As soon as the new coat is hard he 
begins to make up for lost meals, feeding 
ravenously, The lobster seems to suffer 
from nerves— at all events, fishermen who 
are on intimate terms with him say that 
a loud clap of thunder or the boom of a 
ship's gun will make him shed a claw; all 
crustaceans set little value on their limbs, 
as they can grow new ones to replace those 
lost. The lobster suffers a good deal when 
his armour gets too small for him, but as 
that happens only onc:e a year we may keep 
our sympathy for the unfortunate young 
prawns, who grow so fast that they require 
new shell-jackets every twelve days. 

The field -cricket, who has been shrilling 
with tireless energy since he got up in the 
spring, shows symptoms of weariness about 
the beginning of" August: his song is less 
continuous, less strident; and gradually he 

gives up singing for the year, 
summer of discontent for the 
harvest mouse, who, by the 
way, is the only British 
mammal who possesses an 
even partially prehensile tail; 
he uses that organ as a fifth 
hand, more particularly when 
descending the wheat stem 
in a hurry. Much addicted 
to weaving his beautiful ball 
of a nest among the stems of 
standing corn, and fond of 

Digitized by V^iC 

Now is the 

climbing to the ears of wheat on which he sits 
to lunch and enjoy the scenery, the harvest- 
mouse views the reaping machine with par- 
donable disapprobation, He doubtless owes 
his name to the fact that 
harvesting operations are so 
generally instrumental in 
revealing, and bringing ruin 
to, his domestic hearth ; the 
chances are in favour of there 
being babies in the nest when- 
ever it be brought to light, 
for, like the rest of his kind, 
he is an enthusiastic family 
man who loves to surround 
himself with children, grand- 
children, and great - grand- 
children to the fifth and 
sixth generation. When the 
corn is stooked the tawny 
and barn owls come from 
far and near to range the 
fields, self-appointed special 
constables in the agricultural 
interest. Every mouse is de 
facto an offender, and if he 
fall into the clutches of the 
law as personified by an owl 
his fate is sealed. The phea- 
sant sometimes amuses him- 
self by killing and eating 
mice ; it is an injudicious 
practice, as the dead mouse 
**% frequently sticks in his gullet 
and chokes him. 






Stoats and weasels at this season occa- 
sionally get up hunting parties of fifteen 
or twenty — perhaps two families combine 
for sport — and display reckless courage ; 
a party of twenty weasels has been known 
to attack a* collie dog, either from sheer 
bravado or downright savagery ; they are, 
as we know, prone to kill from wanton 
love of slaughter, and twice twenty weasels 
would hardly know how to dispose of a 
5©lb. dog when they had worried him to 
death. The rabbit is 
still engaged on pri- 
vate affairs, which 
indulgence itself can 
hardly admit as 
urgent, in view of the 
fact that they have 
been recurrently on 
hand ever since 
March. The con- 
duct of the buck- 
rabbit suggests that 
he regards these 
superabundant chil- 
dren with disappro- 
val ; for if, in despite 
of his wife, he makes 
his way into the 
nursery he is likely 
to kill a few of them. 
There is no excuse 
for this behaviour; 
the mind of the most 
intellectual rabbit is 
hardly likely to be 
influenced by the 
doctrine of Malthus, 


and he cannot 
plead over-work, for 
his wife does every- 
thing ; she even 
tears off her own 
clothes to make her 
babies warm and 

The 23rd of 
August comes 
round and the 
punctual puffins 
leave the breeding 
grounds to fly sea- 
ward and distribute 
themselves on dis- 
tant rocks and islets: 
thp puffin has more 
reason than most 
birds to withdraw 
from society during 
the autumn moult. There is no great differ- 
ence between the clothes he takes off 
and the dress he will put on, it is true: 
but there is that wonderful bill to be 
considered. Nature bestows upon him the 
beautiful red and blue arrangement with 
chaste yellow stripes as a wedding gift that he 
may be pleasing in the eye of hen puffins — it 
doesn't say much for their taste, but let that 
pass. The breeding season over, Nature, 
with callous disregard of the cock's feelings 

and without reflect- 
ing on the shock it 
must give his wife, 
takes off the puffin's 
bill in pieces, as 
though it were after 
all a false nose to 
hide the neutral- 
tinted and insignifi- 
cant snub beneath. 
Consider, I pray you, 
the emotions of the 
young puffin whom 
this loss befalls for 
the first time. 

The guillemots are 
leaving their rock- 
ledges also, to scatter 
for the autumn and 
winter: there is, in 
point of fact, a general 
breaking up for the 
holidays, the educa- 
tion of the young 
birds being finished. 
•The herons leave 
QrbflABd'lf Tithe heronry and 


1 7 6 


resort to the marshes and 
streams. The curlews 
send their children to 
the waterside to learn the 
science of mud -probing, 
and go thither them- 
selves, keeping apart 
from the young people, 
however Thanks to 
their long bills the cur- 
lews live better and keep 
in fatter condition in 
winter than other mud- 
larking species who can- 
not explore so deeply. 

The end of the month 
draws near and the swifts 
go. There is no prepara- 
tion, no assemblage of 
travelling companions : 
the company about the 
steeple have been grow- 
ing more restless and 
soaring in loftier realms 
than usual for a few days, 
and one evening the 
silence tells you they are 
gone. Cruel is the fate of 
the backward young swift 
who has not learned to 
fly perfectly by the time 
his people start for the 
south ; he is left behind to die of cold and 
starvation, if he cannot find his way to Africa 
all by himself. The young swallows and the 
house-martins of 
the first brood 
are congregating 
on the roofs to 
discuss in eager 
twitterings the 
wonders of the 
new country 
their parents 
have described, 

The great 
caterpillar of the 
Death's Head 
moth seeks 
seclusion under- 
ground in August 
to pass into the 
chrysalis state. 
The peacock 
but t e r f 1 y 
emerges from 
the chrysalis to 
enjoy a f e w 
weeks' gaiety 



before retiring for the 
winter. The active career 
of most butterflies in the 
winged state of existence 
is short j the large tor- 
toiseshell who came out 
in the middle of July is 
quite content to go to bed 
for the winter in the 
middle of August ; and, 
like other butterflies who 
hibernate in the complete 
states will get up about 
May to lay eggs and die. 
Some of the butterflies, 
as we might expect of such 
giddy, undomestic crea- 
tures, have no idea of 
home comfort, and spend 
the winter in the chilliest 
fashion. A small tortoise- 
shell was observed by a 
parson one Sunday in 
August to enter his 
church during the 
service and settle on 
the ceiling ;- and there 
the clerico-entomo- 
logical eye marked the 
insect, Sunday after 
Sunday, hanging to the 
naked beam for nine 
months* a sound sleeper 

The Red Admiral appears in August: his 
steadiness of character is open to criticism, 

for he is rather 
addicted to 
going out at 
night when well- 
butterflies are 
in bed. The 
Painted Lady is 
expected at this 
season too, but 
she is so irregu- 
lar in her habits 
that en to mo- 
log i s \% im- 
patiently declare 
it impossihle to 
lay down any 
precise rules 
for her meta- 
morphoses : she 
is even more 
i r re s punsible 
than other 
inalfrom butterflies. 



- / -' 


quiet, unobtrusive fashion was 
/2^j enjoying herself. The cool 
Jjfc) living-room at Turn bull's farm 
was a delightful contrast to 
the hot sunshine without, and 
the drowsy humming of bees floating in at 
the open window was charged with hints of 
slumber to the middle-aged. From her seat 
by the window she watched with amused 
interest the efforts of her father— kept from 
his Sunday afternoon nap by the assiduous 
attentions of her two admirers— to maintain 
his politeness. 

" Father was so pleased to see you both 
come in," she said, softly ; " it's very dull for 
him here of an afternoon with only me." 

"I can't imagine anybody being dull with 
only you," said Sergeant Dick Daly, turning 
a hold brown eye upon her. 

Mr John Blundell scowled ; this was the 
third time the sergeant had said the thing 
that he would have liked to say if he had 
thought vf it, 

11 1 don't mind being dull," remarked Mr. 
Turnbull, casually. 

Neither gentleman made any comment. 

i: I like it," pursued Mr, TthnbuH, long- 
ingly ; "always did, from a child. 1 ' 

The two young men looked at each other ; 

Vol y xiv,— 23. Copyright, 190a, by W. W, Jacobs, 

by L^OOgle 

then they looked at Venia ; the sergeant 
assumed an expression of careless ease, while 
John Blundell sat his chair like a human 
limpet. Mr. Turnbull almost groaned 'as he 
remembered his tenacity* 

il The garden's looking very nice," he said, 
with a pathetic glance round. 
■ "Beautiful/ 1 assented the sergeant "I 
saw it yesterday*" 

"Some o* the roses on that big bush 
have opened a bit more since then," said the 

Sergeant Daly expressed his gratification, 
and said that he was not surprised. It was 
only ten days since he had arrived in the 
village on a visit to a relative, but in that 
short space of time he had, to the great 
discomfort of Mr, Blundell, made himself 
wonderfully at home at Ml TurnbuH'fc To 
Venia he related strange adventures by sea 
and land, and on subjects of which he was 
sure the farmer knew nothing he was a 
perfect mine of information. He began to 
talk in low tones to Venia, and the heart of 
Mr. Blundell sank within him as he noted 
her interest. Their voices fell to a gentle 
murmur, and the sergeant's sleek, well- 
brushed head bent closer to that of his 
listener. Relieved from his attentions, Mr- 
Turn bull fell asleep without more ado. 

in tht United StAt*-. of America 

KJ\ I ylr I d I I IU 1 1 1 


1 7 8 


Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling 
witness of a flirtation he was powerless to 
prevent. Considering her limited oppor- 
tunities, Miss Turnbull displayed a proficiency 
which astonished him. Even the sergeant 
was amazed, and suspected her of long 

" I wonder whether it is very hot outside ? " 
she said, at last, rising and looking out of the 

" Only pleasantly warAi," said the sergeant. 
" It would be nice down by the water." 

" I'm afraid of disturbing father by our 
talk," said the considerate daughter. " You 
might tell him we've gone for a little stroll 
when he wakes," she added, turning to 

Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea 
of acting the humble but, in his opinion, 
highly necessary part of chaperon, sat down 
again and watched blankly from the window 
until they were out of sight. He was half- 
inclined to think that the exigencies of the 
case warranted him in arousing the farmer 
at once* 

It was an hour later when the farmer 
awoke, to find himself alone with Mr. 
Blundell, a state of affairs for which he 
strove with some pertinacity to make that 
aggrieved gentleman responsible. 

"Why didn't you go with them?" he 

"Because I wasn't asked," replied the 

Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed 
him disdainfully. "For a great, big chap 
like you are, John Blundell," he exclaimed, 
" it's surprising what a little pluck you've 

"I don't want to go where I'm not 
wanted," retorted Mr. Blundell. 

"That's where you make a mistake," said 
the other, regarding him severely ; "girls like 
a masterful man, and, instead of getting your 
own way, you sit down quietly and do as 
you're told, like a tame— tame " 

"Tame what?" inquired Mr. Blundell, 

" I don't know," said the other, frankly ; 
" the tamest thing you can think of. There's 
Daly laughing in his sleeve at you, and talk- 
ing to Venia about Waterloo and the Crimea 
as though he'd been there. I thought it 
was pretty near settled between you." 

"So did I," said Mr. Blundell. 

"You're a big man, John,'' said the other, 
" but you're slow. You're all muscle and no 

" I think of things afterwards," said 

by K: 



Blundell, humbly ; " generally after I get to 

Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up 
and down the room ; then he closed the 
door and came towards his friend again. 

" I dare say you're surprised at me being 
so anxious to get rid of Venia," he said, slowly, 
" but the fact is I'm thinking of marrying 
again myself." 

" You!" said the startled Mr. Blundell. 

" Yes, me," said the other, somewhat 
sharply. " But she won't marry so long as 
Venia is at home. It's a secret, because if 
Venia got to hear of it she'd keep single to 
prevent it. She's just that sort of girl." 

Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. 
" Who is it ? " he inquired. 

" Miss Sippet," was the reply. " She 
couldn't hold her own for half an hour against 

Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, 
reduced the time to five minutes. 

" And now," said the aggrieved Mr. 
Turnbull, " now, so far as I can see, she's 
struck with Daly. If she has him it'll be 
years and years before they can marry. She 
seems crazy about heroes. She was talking 
to me the other night about them. Not to 
put too fine a point on it, she was talking 
about you." 

Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased 

" Said you were not a hero," explained 
Mr. Turnbull. " Of course, I stuck up for 
you. I said you'd got too much sense to go 
putting your life into danger. I said you 
were a very careful man, and I told her how 
particular you was about damp sheets. Your 
housekeeper told me." 

" It's all nonsense," said Blundell, with a 
fiery face. " I'll send that old fool packing 
if she can't keep her tongue quiet." 

" It's very sensible of you, John," said 
Mr. Turnbull, "and a sensible girl would 
appreciate it. Instead of that, she only 
sniffed when I told her how careful you 
always were to wear flannel next to your 
skin. She said she liked dare-devils." 

" I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare- 
devil," said the offended Mr. Blundell. "And 
I wish people wouldn't talk about me and 
my skin. Why can't they mind their own 
business ?" 

Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and 
then, sitting in a very upright position, slowly 
filled his pipe, and declining a proffered 
match rose and took one from the mantel- 

" I was doing the best I could for you," 

Original from 



he said, staring hard at the ingrate, " 1 was 
trying to make Venia see what a careful 
husband you would make. Miss Sippet 
herself is most particular about such things 
— and Venia seemed to think something of 
it, because she asked me whether you used a 

Mr. Blundell got up from his chair and, 
without going through the formality of 
bidding his host good-bye, quitted the room 


and closed the door violently behind him, 
He was red with rage, and he brooded darkly 
ns he made his way home on the folly of 
carrying on the traditions of a devoted 
mother without thinking for himself. 

For the next two or three days, to Venia's 
Secret concern, he failed to put in an 
appearance at the farm— a fact which made 
flirtation with the sergeant a somewhat un- 
interesting business. Her sole recompense 
was the dismay of her father, and for his 
!>enefit she dwelt upon the advantages of the 
Army in a manner that would have made the 
fortune of a recruiting sergeant. 

"She's just crazy after the soldiers," he 
said to Mr. Blundell, whom he was trying 
to spur on to a desperate effort- " I've been 

by dc 


watching her close, and I can see what it is 
now ; she's romantic* You're too slow and 
ordinary for her. She wants somebody more 
dazzling. She told Daly only yesterday 
afternoon that she loved heroes. Told it to 
him to his face, I sat there and heard her* 
It's a pity you ain't a hero, John." 

11 Yes," said Mr. Blundell ; " then, if I was, 
I expect she'd like something else." 

The other shook his head. " If you could 
only do something 
daring/ 1 he murmured ; 
'* half-kill somebody, or 
save somebody's life, and 
let her see you do it. 
^ Could n't you dive off the 
quay and save somebody's 
life from drowning?" 

"Yes, I could/' said 
Blundell, ** if somebody 
would only tumble in." 

u You might pretend 
that you thought you saw 
somebody drowning," 
suggested Mr, Turn bull. 

" And be laughed at," 
said Mr. Blundell, who 
knew his Venia by heart. 
"You always seem to 
be able to think of objec- 
tions," complained Mr, 
Tumbull; "Pve noticed 
that in you before." 

" Td go in fast enough 
if there was anybody 
there," said Blundell. 
" Tin not much of a 

swimmer, but " 

"All the better/' inter- 
rupted the other; "that 
would make it all the 
more daring." 
" And I don't much care if I'm drowned," 
pursued the younger man, gloomily, 

Mr. Turnbull thrust his hands in his 
pockets and took a turn or two up and down 
the room. His brows were knitted and his lips 
pursed. In the presence of this mental stress 
Mr* Blundell preserved a respectful silence* 

" We'll all four go for a walk on the quay 
on Sunday afternoon/' said Mr. Tumbull, at 

41 On the chance?" inquired Ins staring 

il On the chance," assented the other ; ll it's 
just possible Daly might fall in/' 

"He might if we walked up and down 
five million times," said Blundell, un- 
Original from 




" He might if we walked up and down 
three or four times," said Mk Turnbull, 
11 especially if you happened to stumble." 

11 1 never stumble," said the matter-of-fact 
Mr. Blundell. " I don't know anybody more 
sure-footed than I am." 
. " Or thick-headed," added the exasperated 
Mr. Turnbull. 

Mr. Blundell regarded him patiently ; he 
had a strong suspicion that his friend had 
been drinking. 

"Stumbling," said Mr. Turnbull, con- 
quering . his annoyance with an effort — 
"stumbling is a thing that might happen 
to anybody. You trip your foot against a 
stone and lurch up against Daly ; he 
tumbles overboard, and you off with your 
jacket and dive in off the quay after him. 
He can't swim a stroke." 

Mr. Blundell caught his breath and gazed 
at him in speechless amaze. 

" There's sure to be several people on the 
quay if it's a fine afternoon," continued his 
instructor.. "You'll have half Dunchurch 
round you, praising you and patting you on 
the back — all in front of Venia, mind you. 
It'll be put in all the papers and you'll get a 

" And suppose we are both drowned ? " 
said Mr. Blundell, soberly. 

"Drowned? Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. 
Turnbull. " However, please yourself. If 
you're afraid " 

" I'll do it," said Blundell, decidedly. 

"And mind," said the other, "don't do it 
as if it's as easy as kissing your fingers ; be 
half-drowned yourself, or at least pretend to 
be. And when you're on the quay take your 
time about coming round. Be longer than 
Daly is ; you don't want him to get all the 

"All right," said the other. 

"After a time you can open your eyes," 
went on his instructor ; " then, if I were you, 
I should say, * Good-bye, Venia,' and close 
'em again. Work it up affecting, and send 
messages to your aunts." 

" It sounds all right," said Blundell. 

" It A all right," said Mr. Turnbull. "That's 
just the bare idea I've given you. It's for 
you to improve upon it. You've got two 
days to think about it." 

Mr. Blundell thanked him, and for the 
next two days thought of little else. Being 
a careful man he made his will, and it was in 
a comparatively cheerful frame of mind that 
he made his way on Sunday afternoon to* 
Mr. Turn bull's. 

The sergeant was already there conversing 

by K: 



in low tones with Venia by the window, 
while Mr. Turnbull, sitting opposite in an 
oaken armchair, regarded him with an 
expression which would have shocked Iago. 

"We were just thinking of having a blow 
down by the water," he said, as Blundell 

" What ! a hot day like this ? " said Venia. 

"I was just thinking how beautifully cool 
it is in here," said the sergeant, who 
was hoping for a repetition of the previous 
Sunday's performance. 

"It's cooler outside," said Mr. Turnbull, 
with a wilful ignoring of facts ; " much cooler 
when you get used to it." 

He led the way with Blundell, and Venia 
and the sergeant, keeping as much as possible 
in the shade of the dust-powdered hedges, 
followed. The sun was blazing in the sky, 
and scarce half-a-dozen people were to be 
seen on the little curved quay which consti- 
tuted the usual Sunday afternoon promenade. 
The water, a dozen feet below, lapped 
cool and green against the stone sides. 

At the extreme end of the quay, under- 
neath the lantern, they all stopped, ostensibly 
to admire a full-rigged ship sailing slowly by 
in the distance, but really to effect the change 
of partners necessary to the afternoon's busi- 
ness. The change gave Mr. Turnbull some 
trouble ere it was effected, but he was 
successful at last, and, walking behind the 
two young men, waited somewhat nervously 
for developments. 

Twice they paraded the length of the 
quay and nothing happened. The ship was 
still visible, and, the sergeant halting to gaze 
at it, the company lost their formation, and 
he led the complaisant Venia off from 
beneath her father's very nose. 

44 You're a pretty manager, you are, John 
Blundell," said the incensed Mr. Turnbull. 

44 1 know what I'm about," said Blundell, 

44 Well, why don't you do it ? " demanded 
the other. " I suppose you are going to 
wait until there are more people about, and 
then perhaps some of them will see you 
push him over." 

44 It isn't that," said Blundell, slowly, " but 
you told me to improve on your plan, you 
know, and I've been thinking out improve- 

44 Well ? " said the other. 

44 It doesn't seem much good saving 
Daly," said Blundell ; " that's what I've been 
thinking. He would be in as much danger 
as I should, and he'd get as much sympathy ; 
perhaps more." 

Original from 



" Do you mean to tell me 
that you are hacking out of 
it?" demanded Mr* 1 urn- 

14 No," said Blundell, 
slowly, a but it would be 
much better if I saved some- 
body else, 1 don't want 
Daly to be pitied/' 

" Bah ! you are backing 
out of it,' ] said the irritated 
Mr. Turnbull. " You're 
afraid of a little cold water.* 1 
" No, I'm not," said 
Blundell ; "but it would be 
better in every way to save 
somebody else. She'll see 
Daly standing there doing 
nothing, while I am strug- 
gling for my life. I've 
thought it all out very care- 
fully. I know I'm not quick, 
but I'm sure* and when I 
make up my mind to do a 
thing, I do it. You ought 
to know that." 

"That's all very well," 
said the other ; " but who 
else is there to push in ?" 

" That's all right," said Blundell, vaguely, 
4 * Don't you worry about that; I shall find 

Mr. Turn bull turned and cast a specula- 
tive eye along the quay. As a rule, he had 
great confidence in BlundelTs determination, 
but on this occasion he had his doubts. 
" VVell, it's a riddle to me," he said, slowly, 

"I give it up. It semis Halloa! 

Good heavens, be careful. You nearly had 
me in then/ 1 

"Did 1?" said Blundell, thickly. "Tm 
very sorry.'' 

Sir. Turnbull, angry at such carelessness, 
accepted the apology in a grudging spirit 
and trudged along in silence. Then he 
started nervously as a monstrous and 
unworthy suspicion occurred to him. It 
was an incredible thing to, but at 
the same time he felt that there was nothing 
like being on the safe side, and in tunes not 
quite free from significance he intimated his 
desire of changing places with his awkward 

i£ It's all right, 1 ' said Blundell t soothingly. 
"I know it is," said Mr. Turn bull, regard- 
ing him fixedly ; '* but 1 prefer this side. 
You very near had me over just now/' 
"I staggered/' said Mr. Blundell. 
"Another inch and I should have been 




overboard," said Mr. Turnbull, with a shudder, 
* 4 That would have been a nice how d + ye 

Mr, Blundell coughed and looked seawards. 
" Accidents will happen/' he murmured. 

They reached the end of the quay again 
and stood talking, and when they turned once 
more the sergeant was surprised and gratified 
at the ease with which he bore off Venia, 
Mr. Turnbull and Blundell followed some 
little way behind, and the former gentleman's 
suspicions were somewhat lulled by finding 
that his friend made no attempt to take the 
inside plate. He looked about him with 
interest fur a likely victim, but in vain. 

l< What are you looking at ? " he demanded, 
impatiently, as Blundell suddenly came to a 
stop and gated curiously into the harbour. 

41 Jelly-fish," said the other, briefly. l< I 
never saw such a monster. It must be a 
yard across*" 

Mr. turn bull stopped, but could see 
nothing, and even when Blundell pointed 
it out with his finger he had no better 
success. He stepped forward a pace, and 
his suspicions returned with renewed vigour 
as a hand was laid caressingly on his 
shoulder. 'The next moment, with a wild 
shriek, he shot suddenly over the edge and 
disappeared, Venia and the sergeant, turn- 
Original from 



I S3 


ing hastily, were just in time to see the 
fountain which ensued on his immersion. 

"Oh, save him ! " cried Venia. 

The sergeant ran to the edge and gazed in 
helpless dismay as Mr. Turn bull came to the 
surface and dis- 
appeared again, At 
the same moment 
lilundell, who had 
thrown off his coat, 
dived into the har- 
bour and, rising 
rapidly to the sur- 
face, caught the fast 
choking Mr, Turn- 
bull by the collar. 

" Keep still/' he 
cried, sharply, as 
the farmer tried to 
clutch him ; " keep 
still or I'll let you 

[l Help !" choked 
the farmer, gazing 
up at the little knot 
of people which 
had collected on 
the quay, 

A stout fisherman 
who had not run for 
thirty years came 
along the edge of 
the quay at a sham- 
bling trot, with a 
coil of rope over 
his arm. John 
Blundell saw him 
and, mindful of the 
farmer's warning 
about kissing of 
fingers etc., raised 
his disengaged arm 
and took that fren- 
zied gentleman 
below the surface 
again. By the time they came up he was 
*ery glad for his own sake to catch the line 
skilfully thrown by the old fisherman and be 
drawn gently to the side, 

iN III tow you to the steps," said Lhe fisher- 
man ; " don't let go o' the line." 

Mr. Turnbull saw to that ; he wound the 
rope round his wrist and began to regain his 
Ijjesence of mind as they were drawn steadily 
towards the steps. Willing hands drew them 
out of the water and helped them up 
on to the quay, where Mr, Turnbull, sitting 
in his own puddle* coughed up salt water 
and glared ferociously at the inanimate form 


by Google 

of Mr. Blundell Sergeant Daly and another 
man were rendering what they piously 
believed to be first aid to the apparently 
drowned, while the stout fisherman, with both 
hands to his mouth, was yelling in heart- 
rending accents for a barrel. 

" He— he -push — pushed me in," 
gasped the choking Mr, TumbulL 

Nobody paid any at- 
tention to him ; even 
Venia, seeing that he 
was safe, was on her 
knees by the side of the 
unconscious Blundell. 
^He — he's s ha ni- 
ming," bawled the 
neglected Mr, 

H Shame!'* said 
somebody, without 
even looking round, 
tk He pushed me 
in," repeated Mr. 
Turnbull. "He 
pushed me in*" 

" Oh, father/' said 
Venia, with a scan- 
dalized glance at 
him, **how can 

bl Shame!" said 
the bystanders, briefly, 
as they watched anxiously 
for signs of returning 
life on the part of Mr* 
Hlundell. He lay still 
with his eyes closed, but 
his hearing was still 
acute, and the sounds 
of a rapidly-approaching 
barrel trundled by a 
breathless Samaritan 
did him more good than 

"Good-bye, Venia," 
he said, in a faint voice ; "good-bye." 

Miss Turnbull sobbed and took his hand. 

" He's sham mi tig," roared Mr. Turnbull, 

incensed beyond measure at the faithful 

manner in which Hlundell was carrying out 

his instructions* "He pushed me in." 

Tli ere was an angry murmur from 

14 Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull," said the 
sergeant, somewhat sharply, 

" He nearly lost Is life over you," said the 
stout fisherman. "As plucky a thing as ever 
I see. If I adnt lia r been 'audy with that 
there line you'd both ha' been drovvnded," 

Original from 





7^ ^ 

tA Give — my love — to everybody," said 
Rlundell, faintly. il Good - bye, Venia, 
Good-bye, Mr. TumbuIL" 

"Where's that barrel?" demanded the 
*tout fisherman, crisply. "Going to be all 
night with it? 
Now, two of 

you " 

Mr. Elundell, 
with a great effort, 
and assisted by 
Venia and the 
sergeant, sat up. 
He felt that he 
had made a good 
impression t and 
had no desire to 
spoil it by riding 
the barrel. With 
oue exception, 
everybody was 
regarding him 
with moist-eyed 
admiration. The 
exception s eyes 
were, perhaps, 
the moistest of 
them all, but 
admiration had 
no place in them, 

"You're all being made fools of," he 
said T getting up and stamping. u I tell 
you he pushed me overboard for the 

il 0h, father! how can you? iT demanded 
Venia, angrily. "He saved your life." 

"He pushed me in," repeated the farmer. 
"Told me to look at a jelly fish and pushed 
me in.* 1 
" What for?" inquired Sergeant Daly. 

M Because " said Mr. TumbuIL He 

looked at the unconscious sergeant, and the 
words on his lips died away in an inarticulate 

"What for?" pursued the sergeant, in 
triumph. ** Be reasonable, Mr. Turn bull. 
Where's the reason in pushing you overboard 
and then nearly losing his life saving you? 
That would be a Tools trick. It was as fine 
a thing as ever I saw." 

"What you 'ad, Mr. Turnbull," said the 
stout fisherman, tapping him on the arm, 
**was a little touch o 1 the sun." 

" What felt to you like a push/' said 

another man, " and over you went. 1 ' 

"As easy as easy," said a third. 

**YouVe red in the face now/' said the 

stout fisherman, regarding him critically, 

*'and your eyes are starting. You take my 

advice and get 'onie and get to bed, and the 
first thing you'll do when you get your senses 
back will be to go round and thank Mr. 
Blundell for all Vs done for you/' 

Mr- Turnbull looked at them, and the 
circle of intelligent faces grew misty be- 
fore his angry eyes. One man, ignoring 
his sodden condition, recommended a 
wet handkerchief tied round his brow. 



11 1 dorvt want any thanks, Mr. Turn bull, w 
said Blundcll, feebly, as he was assisted to 
his feet. * s I'd do as much for you again." 

The stout fisherman patted him admiringly 
on the back, and Mr [urn bull felt like a 
prophet beholding a realized vision as the 
spectators clustered round Mr. Blundell and 
followed their friends 1 example. Tenderly 
but firmly they led the hero in triumph up 
the quay towards home, shouting out eulo- 
gistic descriptions of his valour to curious 
neighbours as they passed. Mr. Turnbull, 
churlishly keeping his distance in the rear of 
the procession, received in grim silence the 
congratulations of his friends. 

The extraordinary hallucination caused by 
the sunstroke lasted with him for over a week, 
but at the end of that time his mind cleared 
and he saw things in the same light as 
reasonable folk. Venia was the first to con- 
gratulate him upon his recovery ; but his 
extraordinary behaviour in proposing to Miss 
Sippet the very day on which she herself 
became Mrs. Blundell convinced her that his 
recovery was only partial. 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 





THE manuscripts preserved at 
Welbeck Abbey by the Duke of 
Portland contain some interest- 
ing references to the representa- 
tive of the Harcourt family in 

the classical times of Queen Anne. On the 

28th of November Simon Harcourt, Lord 

Keeper, took possession of Newnham, to-day 

the home of the head of the Harcourt clan. 
At It is," writes Canon Stratford to Edward 

Harley, later second Earl of Oxford, * l a very 

pleasant situation and a fine estate. Lord 

Keeper pays for it ^17,000, and Tom 

Rowney, who managed 

this bargain for him, tells # 

me it is the cheapest 

pennyworth that ever was 

bought in Oxfordshire/' 
The Lord Keeper had 

previously lived at Cock- 

rop, where within two 

years he laid out ^£4,000, 

H He hns bought/ 1 adds 

the envious Canon, * £ Sir 

Edmund VVarcop's estate 

that joins to Cockrop for 

j£\o y ooo and now this 

purchase for ^17,000, 

It is plain there is money 

to be got by the Seals, 

and formerly money was 

got in the Treasury," 

A quern ';; he L ° rc j 

Keeper had 

a son who 

bore the baptismal name of 
Simpkin* The Lord Keeper put him up as 
a candidate for Oxford University. "Har- 
court," writes the Canon, 4t has been in 
town since Sunday, He spent Sunday 
evening at the Deanery; He dined there 
yesterday, He passed by my lodgings both 
times without calling. I am not much 
mortified. [Oh ] - Canon, Canon !] I have 
known the time when father as w r ell as 
son would have been glad to come here 
when they could be admitted into no other 

Five days later Loulou— I mean Simpkin 
— mindful that the Canon had a vote and 
some influence, remembered his old friend* 


l\ I HI-: T[*. K OK i>LJ J.\ AN^K. 




"Young Harcourt sups with me to-night," 
the Canon writes, under date 7th December, 
1712. "He called on me last night I asked 
him if he had not gone by my door every day 
this week. He owned it, but said that he 
still designed to call on me before he left the 
town. I told him I believed I was obliged 
to the weather for seeing him. After a short 
visit he appointed to come with T. Rovvney 
and sup with me this evening, I hope," adds 
the Canon, always ready, so to speak, to "go 
off" when the image of the Lord Keeper 
crosses his mind, "you will allow me to 
haVfe learned somewhat 
since I belong to the 
Court when I can be 
upon a point of com- 
pliments with the son 
after I have been used so 
by the father If I go 
on to improve in this 
way, I may in time be 
qualified for better pre- 

Through the corre- 
spondence flash many 
glimpses of Queen Anne's 
Lord Keeper, a big, 
bustling, competent, suc- 
cessful man, carrying 
everything before him in 
private company and in 
public life. A masterful 
spirit, with great con- 
tempt for mediocrity, and 
no cultured gift of reticence in expressing 
his views about it. As a study of heredity 
this is interesting and valuable, showing 10 
the present generation how, in the course of 
three centuries, a family type may be abso- 
lutely altered. 

At Newnham there hangs at 
this day a portrait of Lord 
Keeper Harcourt* When, a 
few years ago, a historic fancy 
dress ball was given ai Devon- 
shire House, Sir William Harcourt went in 
the character of his ancestor. The arrange- 
ment was not difficult, since the gown of the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer of to-day is, in 
nearly every respect, identical with that worn 

Original from 








by the Lord Keeper two hundred years 

Amongst the stories treasured in connec- 
tion with the social triumph planned and 
carried out by the Duchess of Devonshire 
is one relating to the present Lord Chancellor 
and Simon Harcourt's distinguished descend- 
ant. Lord Halsbury went to the ball 
in the character of George III 
across Sir William Harcourt, 
and a little mixed in his dales, 
he, with his habitual play- 
fulness, said :— - 

"Are you my Lord Chan- 
cellor ? JJ 

"Yes," said Sir William 
Harcourt, "if your Majesty 
chances to be Queen Anne," 

It was said at the time of 
the ball that Lord HaIsbury T s 
philandering as George II L 
was coldly looked upon in the 
highest quarter* "A little too 
near the family," Queen 
Victoria said, when she heard 
of the Ix>rd Chancellor's selec- 
tion of an otherwise not 
inappropriate character 

The gown of the 
A historic Chancellor of the 

gown. Exchequer is rarely 
seen by the public, 
which is a pity. It is as hand- 
some as it is costly, lending a 
stateliness to the figure un- 
approachable by the art of the 
modern tailor I have a vivid 
recollection of seeing Mr. Glad- 
stone arrayed in it on the occasion of the open- 
ing by the Queen of the new Law Courts, 
Striking in appearance, even when he wore a 
shabby old cape endeared by association of 
two score years, he in this gracious robe of 
silk took on a new dignity, A new gown 
costs ^150, and as it may not be worn out 
of office it is customary for the incoming 
Chancellor to purchase his predecessor's robe 
at a suitable reduction, In recent times 
there have been two notable exceptions to 
the rule. When, in February, 186S, Mr. 
Gladstone succeeded Mr, Disraeli at the 
Treasury the outgoing Chancellor declined to 
sell his raiment to his successor. There 
was a very good reason, which precludes the 
necessity of searching for personal animus to 
account /or the departure from custom. The 
fobe had originally belonged to Mr. Pitt, and 
Disraeli preferred possession of the historic 
relic to a cheque for ^ioq, 




AS tiKOKt.K 111. 

by Google 

The other case was that of Lord 
Randolph Churchill, who possessed himself 
of Mr. Gladstone's Chancellor's gown, Mr. 
Goschen, who when playing his last card for 
supremacy in the Cabinet Lord Randolph 
41 forgot," would have taken the Chancellor 
of the Exchequer's gown with his office. 
Lord Randolph would hold no truck 
with his successor 

I felt it due to Mr. 
John Albert Bright 
to give publicity to 
his letter calling in 
question a state- 
ment made some months ago 
in these pages with respect to 
his father's practice in prepar- 
ing his speeches, Mr, Bright, 
in support of his assertion 
that his father never wrote out 
his speeches, or even prepared 
voluminous notes, quotes a 
statement to that effect pub- 
lished by the great orator in 
the volume of his speeches. 
Whilst giving currency to the 
contradiction I am bound to 
say something in defence of 
the original statement, or 
rather I will let others speak. 
The paragraph, widely quoted, 
drew the following testimony 
from Mr, I^abouehere, ifi Al- 
though, " the editor of Truth 
writes, " I have often heard 
Mr. Bright speak well with- 
out a note, he generally had 
very copious notes in his 
hand when he spoke. I remember once 
m 1866 sitting with him in the smoking-room 
of the House of Commons. He was going to 
make during the evening a set speech t and he 
had before him a bundle of sheets of paper 
with which he had come provided. He 
happened to say that he wished that his 
speech was over, on which I asked him how 
far he prepared his speeches. On this he 
handed me the bundle and told me that I 
tuight read his notes if I pleased. They were 
very copious, and every now and then a 
lengthy phrase was inserted. This, he told 
me, was his usual habit. When speaking he 
held the bundle before hi in in one hand, and 
as soon as one sheet was exhausted he threw 
it away. There was no sort of concealment 
in tins, although he seemed able to follow the 
notes closely without apparently reading 

A correspondent signing himself C, P. H, 

Original from 

1 86 


wrote to the Westminster Gazette ; " In 1835, 
I think it was, St Crispin's Hall at Street* in 
Somerset, was opened by Mr Bright, and I 
had the honour 10 preside and to have him 
close to me on rny right side. On this 
occasion he certainly used very voluminous 
notes, and constantly referred to them, and 
occasionally seemed to read whole passages 
out of them. And when each note had 
served its purpose he put it into his hat, 
which he had placed just below the table at 
which I was seated." 

I may add that the long time Cabinet 
colleague of Mr. Bright upon whose testi- 
mony the debated point was made tells me 
I correctly interpreted his recollection that 
when, nearly forty years ago, he 
accompanied the Tribune on 
a campaign in Lancashire, Mr. 
Bright habitually prepared his 
speeches in MS, before deliver- 
ing them from the platform. 
The probability is we are all 
right. At the outset of his 
illustrious career, and for some 
time after, John Bright labori- 
ously prepared in advance his 
speeches, fully written out. I,ater 
he learned to swim without the 

During debates on 


the alteration of the 
hours of sitting in the 


House ot Commons 
especial notice was taken of the 
inconvenience that would accrue 
to what Mr, Disraeli, with charac- 
teristic magniloquence, called the 
gentlemen of the long robe by 
the call to VVestminster at half- 
past two in the afternoon. 
Obviously, men actively engaged 
at the Bar could not keep the 
appointment When we con- 
sider the exceptional proportion 
of barristers in the present House 
the difficulty becomes serious. They con- 
siderably exceed one sixth of the whole. It 
is true that all, or even a majority, of the 1 16 
gentlemen who rank as barristers do not find 
their business at the Bar seriously clash with 
their patriotic duties at Westminster, Next 
to undertaking commissions for the sale of 
wine, being called to the Bar is the most 
attractive form of appearing to do business 
known to this generation, Irish members 
are peculiarly susceptible to the temptation. 
When Mr Arthur Balfour is not quite cer- 
tain of the status of an Irish member to 



by Google 

whom he alludes in debate he, with instiac- 
tive desire to charm, always alludes to him 
as "the honourable and learned gentleman," 
In three cases out of five the mode of 
reference turns out to be correct. In addi- 
tion to barristers there are twenty-four 
solicitors, giving us 140 legal gentlemen out 
of a total of 670. 

I once heard Mr, i Gladstone say 
that when he entered the House 
of Commons, nearly seventy 
years ago, there were not five 
members tA the Tory party who were con- 
nected with trade or industry. The assembly, 
on the Tory side almost exclusively com- 
posed of the gentry and landowners, on the 
Liberal wing drew its strength in 
the main from the same source, 
In the present House there are 
only sixty-five members who rank 
as belonging to the once 
dominant class. In point of 
numbers they arc run close by 
fifty-two manufacturers and dis- 
tillers, forty-four merchants, not 
to mention, even in a whisper, 
thirteen shopkeepers and traders. 
One notable feature in the pre- 
sent House is the record number 
of newspaper proprietors and 
journalists. There are thirty-three 
all told. Taking in printers and 
booksellers, they almost suffice 
to form a quorum- " The trade " 
has twenty-three direct represent- 
atives, one more than banks and 
finance. The number is grow- 
ing, being an increase of four 
compared with the muster at the 
last Parliament, 

One of the odd sidelights 
thrown on the constitution of 
the House of Commons is the 
comparative predominance of 
Quakers. The Society of 
Friends, according to the latest 
return, numbered r 3,000 members, They 
are represented in the present House 
of Commons by no fewer than eleven co- 
religionists, a number far out of proportion 
to the position of any other religious de- 

With the courage and originality 
that distinguish new members, 
Mr. Horner this Session brought 
forward the question of removing 
the grille from the Ladies' Gallery in the 
House of Commons. It is curious what 
fascination this topic has for new members, 

Original from 






and how genuine is their belief that in 
broaching it they are making fresh discovery 
of debatable land. Since another member 
of the family, Little Jack Horner, sat in a 
corner, his research and his self-appreciation 
crowned by the unexpected discovery of a 
plum in a Christmas pie, nothing has ex- 
ceeded the complacency of 
the member for North Lam- 
beth in fathering this fad. 

The rights of women at 
Westminster is a cause far 
older than members of the 
reformed House of Com- 
mons can recall Seventy 
years ago West Gloucester- 
shire was represented by 
Mr. Grantley Berkeley. The 
Commons at that time sat 
in the old House, which 
provided no special accom- 
modation for ladies attend- 
ing the debate. All the 
same, after their attractive, 
indomitable manner, they 
got there* But it was only 
by climbing up to the roof 
and seating themselves in 
a contracted space construc- 
ted for purposes of ventila- 
tion Here they could see 
;i little, hear most things that 
were said, themselves un- 
seen. Mr* Gladstone once 
told me he had perfect 
recollection of a fan fluttering down 
from this height, dropped from the hand 
of one of the unsuspected onlookers. Mr. 
Grantley Berkeley, pained at the incon- 
venience to which ladies were put, moved a 
resolution authorizing their admission to the 
gallery reserved for strangers of the other 
sex. This he made an annual, after the Inter 
fashion of Mr, Cobden with his motion for 
the abolition of the Corn Laws. Every 

AN |»--TO-l)A'FE til 

Session the member for West Gloucestershire 
moved that ladies be admitted to the gallery, 
and every Session an ungentle majority voted 
him down. 

The effects of his advocacy were seen 
when the new Houses of Parliament 
included a gallery for the occupation 
of ladies. That it should 
be shut off from the 
rest of the House by 
a lattice - work, a device 
common enough in Moham- 
medan lands, testifies to 
the timidity with which the 
innovation was authorized. 
For many years new mem- 
bers have in succession 
brought the subject up and 
proposed to remove the 
grille. Mr. Heibert Glad- 
stone being First Com- 
missioner of Works (and 
not yet married) was the 
first and last Minister who 
showed disposition to yield 
to the appeal avowedly put 
forward on behalf of ladies 
frequenting the House, 
He speedily discovered he 
had made a mistake and 
the subject dropped. Mr, 
Horner, sitting in his 
corner above the gangway, 
once more discovered the 
long familiar. 
Personal information gleaned over a 
pretty wide field of acquaintance with 
hainiuees of the Indies' Galleries — for 
there are two, one pertaining to the 
dominion of the Speakers wife — leads me 
to the conviction that by a considerable 
and important majority the privacy be- 
stowed by the grille more than com- 
pensates for any inconvenience inseparable 
from the arrangement. 

by Google 

Original from 

.Some DiniiV q places • 

OW, here is a subject I can 
talk about with some authority. 
In the course of a career 
chequered beyond the average 
1 have dined as variously as 
most men, and at as varied 
an assortment of places ; also I have failed 
to dine at all of them in turn, owing to 
"leaving my purse on the piano/' as they 
say in the East-end when they wish to give 
harduppedness a respectable flavour, I have 
dined at the — , but there, why should I 
mention their names, and so advertise them 
for nothing;? Did they ever give me a 
dinner on such terms, or anything like? 
Not a bit of it ; then let them seek the 
pages at both ends of this magazine if 
publicity is what they want. I have dined, 

then, at the and the and the 

and one or two others : places where I have 
paid for my dinner with a sum that has fed 
me for a month in leaner times. These are 
the only earthly spots where in one's working 
hours it is possible to reproduce the bewildered 
consternation of a nightmare. Were you 
never, in a dream, dismayed at finding your- 
self somehow walking down Bond Street at 

by C* 



4 p.m. in your nightshirt, and nothing else 
whatever— not so much as a watch-chain or a 
boot-lace? Well, one evening, go into one of 
these noble institutions in morning clothes, 
and you will feel exactly like that 

I don't think I shall say very much about 
such magnificent places as these. In the 
first place, Lhere would be no instruction in 
it, for who more familiar with these balls of 
dazzling light than the readers of The Strand 
Magazine? And in the second and last 
place, the whole performance, from kors 
tFivuvrts to coffee, and beyond — even to the 
paying of the bill and the waiter's bow— is, 
in strict fact, dull It is rather too decorous 
to be amusing. Reader, are you one of 
those unfortunates who are sometimes seized 
with an almost overpowering impulse to mis- 
behave on solemn occasions— a mad desire 
to shout and turn a somersault in the 
middle of your own wedding service, or 
christening, or vaccination, or what not? I 
am, I have hurried out of church in the 
middle of a sermon because there was a 
large bald head in the sent before me, and I 
knew I could not hold out one minute longer 
against the horrible temptation to bang it 

Original from 




with a hassock. It is terrible. Well, just in 
the same way I suffer at these aristocratic 
dining places, where you get a good dinner 
at about the price of a decent coat. I 
somehow long, burn, madly crave, just 
when my perdrix aux truffes or beignet 
scuffle is approaching in solemn state, 
to bawl aloud for a penn'orth of whelks, 
I have a sort of morbid, unwholesome 
craving to know what would happen. 
But the outrage would be something sur- 
passing in enormity anything possible with 
a hassock in a church, and my courage 
has always failed at the critical moment 
Some day, after an extra glass of Burgundy 
or something, I shall do it. I shall — I know 
I shall; and I cannot guess what will become 
of me then. I think I shall feel a little like a 
criminal whom a judge has condemned to be 
hanged, neglecting to mention the date. 
But I shall have one moment of wild, 
delirious joy first Nobody can deprive me 
of that 
But, of course, I have had my penn'orth of 

whelks. Oh, yes. Not at the well, the 

places I won't advertise for nothing ; but in 
the New Cut on Saturday night, in Shore- 
ditch High Street, and in Camden Town. 
It is an experience well worth the penny, if 
you don't mind what happens to your 
stomach. If you do, it is best to begin with 
pepsine powder. I don't quite know the 
precise quantity necessary to digest a 
penn'orth of whelks, but I should think that 
about a quarter of a hundredweight ought to 
be enough, if you get it strong. 

Whelks are eaten with vinegar, pepper, 
and a flavouring of naphtha-smoke. It is 
customary to take them standing, and at all 
the more recherche stalls they are served in 
saucers of three or four inches diameter. 
Fashionable circles have long been divided 
on the question of strict etiquette in con- 
suming whelks. Formerly it was considered 
de rigueur to fish them up between the finger 
and thumb, though even then some leaders 
of society preferred plunging the muzzle 
boldly into the saucer and gobbling. It 
is now, however, generally conceded that 
the correct mode is to throw the head back 
and shovel the lot into the mouth— previously 
distended to the proper size — care being 
taken to rescue the saucer at the critical 
moment The whelk is a courageous animal, 
full of fight, and very difficult to conquer ; 
only experts can swallow him without a 
severe struggle. A whelk which had acci- 
dentally tumbled from a saucer in Camden 
Town was run over by a van, and it cost the 

by K: 



whelk-merchant a week's profits to square the 
carman for his wheel. It may be remem- 
bered that a little while ago, at the Zoological 
Gardens, an ostrich died in whose stomach 
were found several pocket-knives, a few keys, 
some marbles, and a hymn-book. If that 
ostrich had been given a penn'orth of whelks 
it would have died sooner. 

Perhaps the whelk-stall is not strictly a 
dining place, even for a poor man, though, 
indeed, a poor man can get an indigestion 
there for a penny that will compare favour- 
ably with the noblest indigestion of the 
millionaire. A real dining place, somewhere 
intermediate between the whelk-stall and the 
—ah ! I very nearly let that advertisement 
slip — the places where you pay in sovereigns, 
is the old City chop-house, now very nearly 
extinct. I am old enough — not so very old, 
though, ma'am — but old enough to remember 
the chop-house in its early form. There you 
chose your chop or steak raw. As you 
entered you faced two vast dishes — sometimes 
they were wooden trays — each polished to 
brilliance, and laid out with chops and steaks 
of every degree of thickness and thinness, 
fatness and leanness ; there was every sort 
of variety in them except one : the quality 
was the same for all, and it was the very best. 
Such chops and steaks are hard to find now, 
though they are to be got. Well, lying by each 
dish or tray was a fork, or rather a sceptre — 
a lordly sceptre ending in a prong. You 
picked up a sceptre and, allowing it to hover 
gracefully for a moment over the dish while 
you considered, you drove the prong at last 
into the chop or steak of your choice ; then, 
with the chop-laden sceptre sloped imposingly 
before you, rather like a Roman Eagle head- 
ing a legion, you marched up the aisle, 
between the two rows of high-backed pews 
where the customers sat, to the blazing grill. 
Here the cook dexterously deprived you of 
the chop and took your instructions as to 
whether you wished it well done or the 
reverse. This, of course, supposing you were a 
stranger. He knew the precise turn and touch 
for every regular customer. So much accom- 
plished, you marched back with your bare 
sceptre, placed it ready to hand for the next 
customer, chose your pew, and waited. Your 
dinner (or your lunch) was the chop or steak, 
plain potatoes, a hunk of admirable bread, 
as much cheese as you pleased to cut, and a 
pint of beer. If you were above beer — few 
were — you had half a pint of sherry from 
the wood, and I should think that an order 
for claret would have caused almost as much 
consternation in this old chop-house as one 

Original from 



for whelks at the Ah ! nearly did it 

again. Knives, forks, plates, cruet — all were 
as simple and plain as you like, and all clean 
enough to make you blink. Mustard was 
the great condiment ; it came in half-pint 
pots, fresh as the 
moment, and the 
customers took it 
in vast doses. 
When all was 
over, you pre- 
sented the civil 
waiter with the 
sum of one 
penny for him- 
self, and some- 
times, if you 
were more 
pleased with the 
chop than usual, 
you placed a 
like amount at 
the disposal of 
the cook, and 
you went forth 
into the street 
(even the streets 
of the City were 
more amusing 
then) with a 
great deal of con- 
tent. And now, 
as a man who 
has eaten in all 
sorts of places, 
from a whelk- 
stall to the (no, no, I was on guard 

then), I wis!) publicly and solemnly to declare 
that I have never eaten a better meal than 
one could get any day for a shilling and a 
few coppers at one of these old chop-houses, 
where you hunted your dinner in its wild 
state with a fork, and saw it cooked before 
your eyes. 

There was an earlier style of chop-house 
than this, even — quite the aboriginal sort, I 
suppose. I can only just remember it as 
a boy. There the plan was even more 
elementary — the savagery was put back 
another age, so to speak. You did not 
hunt the untamed chop in the artificial 
enclosure — the park, as you might say — of 
the chop-house itself; you tracked it down to 
its native lair in the butcher's shop, and there 
had it cut to your order. Your prey once 
captured and securely caged in paper, you 
carried it to the chop-house, and there had it 
grilled at a charge of a penny. This, how- 
ever, was the very early charge, before my 





time. Later, with the advance of wealth and 
the growth of luxury and extravagance, you 
paid twopence for cookery, cruet, knife, fork, 
and plate. Potatoes, drink, and bread and 
cheese still further aggravated the ruinous 

total. There was 

^ a narrow court 

off Throgmorton 
Street, where a 
maintained these 
ancient princi- 
ples in the days 
of my very early 
youth, having 
the convenience 
of a butcher's 
shop exactly 
opposite — about 
five yards off. I 
remember it be- 
cause it was in 
that butcher's 
shop that my 
father and I 
successfully cap- 
tured two chops, 
one of which was 
the only one I 
ever personally 
consumed on 
this ancient 
British plan; 
and I wish I 
were certain of a 
chop half as 
good as that one for my lunch tonday. Now, 
was that in Angel Court or in Copthall 
Court? I can't be sure—but I think it must 
have been Angel Court. 

Perhaps I was wrong in supposing that 
the chop-house of this sort was the absolute 
aboriginal. Possibly at some remote period 
there may have been a chop-house where you 
brought your own sheep and had it killed, 
and paid a penny for the loan of a spade to 
dig up your potatoes; but that kind of chop- 
house I do not call to mind. 

How well I remember many of those 
mysterious foreign establishments, though, 
about Soho, where they give you a dinner of 
ten courses with a bottle of wine and a tooth- 
pick for eighteenpence or thereabout! These 
places may be divided into two classes : the 
first, the real and genuine wonders, where 
the courses are not quite so many as 
I have said, and where the charge is a little 
more ; and the second, the humbugs, kept to 
entrap the ignorant. Very often a restaurant 

Original from 



of the first sort passes gradually into the 
second category. It begins with a small 
clientele of the artistic and literary class, 
English and foreign, and it provides a capital 
little luncheon or dinner, perfectly cooked, 
and good sound claret or Chianti, at sur- 
prisingly low prices. Its customers are few, 
they know good cookery and good wine, and 
they form a small coterie or circle. By-and- . 
by they bring their friends, and after a little 
the secret leaks out and outsiders begin to 
drop in now and again ; then the outsiders 
increase in numbers and the original cus- 
tomers drop off. And ere long these latter 
go altogether, having discovered a fresh 
place as good as No. 1 used to be, and as 
quiet. As for No. 1, it waxes prosperous, and 
the proprietor finds that he can presume on 
his reputation. He screws up his prices and 
he complicates his menu, at the same time 
as he screws down the quality of his fare and 
complicates his claret with things as little 
like grape-juice as possible. So that in time 
the place is a mighty property, and utterly 
" blown upon " for those who know, but 
swarmed nightly with the would-be knowing 
who mistake a printed menu they can't 
understand for a good dinner — which per- 
haps they couldn't understand either, if they 
had it. 

One of the best and cheapest of these 
places — it is not good now, though still cheap 
— was my habitual lunching place fifteen 
years ago. A Frenchman kept it, and he 
kept it clean, and he fed you marvellously 
a la carte. You could have soup and nothing 
else if you chose — which would cost you 
threepence- It was admirable soup, too — 
a very different thing from the gruesome 
extract of stock-pot that costs a shilling in 
the City dining place. A sole — simply fried, 
but it takes something like genius to fry a 
sole as it should be done — was fivepence, 
always. How this was managed I don't 
know, unless that excellent Frenchman was 
dexterous -enough to steal his soles ready 
cooked for each customer; I never quite 
accepted the superstition prevalent at the 
time, that he bred them in a private ocean 
on the roof. So with everything else. By 
some extraordinary mechanism the process of 
cooking made things cheap ; for raw in the 
market they would have cost you twice as 
much. Now, why was that ? Cooking things 

doesn't make them cheap at the well, you 

know where I mean. It doesn't even make 
them cheap at home. If I were to go 
to my butcher or fishmonger and announce 
that, the articles left in the morning being 

by K: 



now cooked, I should be obliged by the 
return of half the money paid for them, I 
don't believe I should get it. Somehow, I 
feel sure that their dull, mechanical minds 
would fail to grasp the argument. And as 
to my wine-merchant letting me have claret 
at tenpence a bottle merely on condition that 
I drank it before I paid for it, as at the 
establishment of my friend the Frenchman 
— : well, I can only say that if he ever gave 
way to such habits he has quite conquered 
them now. 

But nothing could be more illusory than 
the cheapness of the bad — and popular — 
Soho dining place. Things are done on the 
cheap with the most amazing ingenuity. 
Nothing is wasted — not even the used tooth- 
picks, I should say. I know they use 
the butcher's skewers to scrape into horse- 
radish, and I feel pretty sure that half the 
asparagus — the half that has no heads — 
consists of worn-out skewers also, boiled and 
J>oiled and served and served again and again 
with the real asparagus — if it is real asparagus 
that they buy in tins — till it is unrecognisable 
as mere timber. The soup, too, is plainly 
nothing but the greasy hot water in which 
the plates have been washed. A shovel- 
ful of greengrocer's sweepings makes it 
"Julienne," flour makes it something else, 
and as for croiite au pot, and the little bits 
of toast in other soups — why, customers 
leave bits of bread about everywhere. So 
that there is the advantage of having all the 
soup in one tub, and all the dirty plates kept 
compactly in the same receptacle, which is 
also handy to stand bottles of claret in, 
which are ordered to be warmed. You 
will often notice how greasy these bottles 
seem when brought to table. All the 
meat tastes the same — like boiled veal hashed 
in brown grease; but it is not veal. What 
it is exactly I cannot definitely say, never 
having been told. But Englishmen as a 
nation are proverbial admirers of that noble 
animal the horse, so perhaps it doesn't 

But the bad Soho dining place is better 
than the bad modern dining place in the 
City. This has every inconvenience of the 
old chop-house and not one of its excellences. 
Oh, that bad City dining place ! Sometimes 
the proprietor is Italian, and you can always 
ascertain if this is the case by smelling the 
food, to which Italian proprietorship always 
communicates a peculiar rankness not easy 
to describe, but instantly recognisable if you 
have run against it once. These places usually 
have cellar-gratings in the pavement, and 





through these gratings a certain atmosphere 
rises. I have heard it conjectured that this 
atmosphere might be cut with a knife; but I 
have never tried, not having a knife I cared 
to risk- If I really wished to cut it I should 
try a saw — one belonging to somebody else* 
The cellar - gratings, you will observe, are 
firmly bolted into the stone ; nothing else 
would keep them there. This atmosphere, 
against which any innocent citizen with a 
wife and family dependent on him may dash 
himself unaware, forms one of the greatest 
perils of the London streets. It is as bad 
as the soup inside the shop, and a great deal 

The soup, by the way, is always of one 
sort in these places. It could easily be made 
by anybody with a barrel of bones and fat 
and the requisite patience to keep the con- 
tents ripening for six months before making 
the soup. When it is made it is any soup 
you please. Put it in a plate with a lump of 
bone in the middle, and it is ox-tail. Fish 
out the bone and substitute a lump of 
gristle, and it is mock-turtle. Throw away 
the gristle and pitch in cayenne pepper till 
the diner's hair rises on end and his eyes 
stand out like hat-pegs, and it is mulli- 
gatawny ; and so on* 

The potatoes are of one sort, too— the sort 

by GoO^lc 

that when boiled present on one side the 
tender, delicate hue of a costermoni^er's black 
eye, There is a secret method of cooking 
them, too, known only in these places, 
whereby they are rendered more durable 
than when raw, and are given the general 
characteristics and appearance of fine old 
mottled soap. The general one- soiled ness 
of these establishments extends also to the 
waiters— and their clothes. It is quite plain 
that they are not born in those dress clothes, 
else some of them would fit. But I am 
convinced that they put them on in early life 
and never take them cfT again, even to sleep. 
And just as the waiters keep the same clothes 
all their lives, so these dining places keep the 
same waiters ; though I once djd hear of 
one being dismissed who was suspected of 
washing his hands. 

But come, let us get to cheaper — and cheer- 
fuller— -dining places* Did you ever dine at 
a ** stodge-shop w ? Cabmen used to dine 
at stodge-shops before the time of cabmen's 
shelters. The stodge-shop is to some extent 
eclipsed and pushed aside nowadays by the 
flaming sausage "emporiums" with a sign of 
a galloping pig, and, as chief advertisement* 
a si/,zle and a smell of onions that penetrates 
the very bricks in the next street The 
stodge shop of old relied for its attraction 

Original from 


J 93 

not on a smell of onions, but on a great 
display of steam. It had a sort of window- 
SL'at of tin, with oval hollows all over it t 
each to accommodate a joint or pudding. 
\ T ear the witching hour of noon these 
joints and puddings 
would appear, and, 
gracious heavens, how 
they would steam! A 
leg of pork here, a 
lump of beef there, a 
shoulder of mutton 
torther along, puddings 
all over the placCj all 
steaming like forty 
washing days. And 
the amazing thing was 
that, the longer the 
joints stayed and the » 
more they were cut 
and sliced away, the 
more they steamed ! 
A boiled leg of pork 
would sink and shrink 
under the carving- 
knife, would show 
more and more of its 
foundation of bone, 
and, presumably, grow 
cooler and cooler, but 
with everlasting courage 
it still steamed the 
more furiously ; till at 
last, after a busy hour, * . 
a mere bone would ^thkvamngtiiorvim 
remain, steaming ; % \ * " 

volumes. And when the bone itself was 
taken away the tin tray would steam still — 
unless somebody below turned off the supply 
in the service-pipe at the correct moment. 
The stodge-shop dinner was good in its way, 
hut a trifle rough. None of your money went 
in refinements— serviettes, for instance, or 
salt-spoons. You got it in solid beef or pork, 
cut thick, with plenty of fat ; you got it in 
solid, pallid pudding, with a lonesome currant 
at intervals, that seemed to have gone astray 
on its journey to some other pudding ; you 
got it in carrots, turnips, and potatoes, a trifle 
uneven in the cooking, perhaps, but solid as 
the rest, and filling for the money. You got 
it, sometimes, even in the literature adorning 
the window. At the moment I can recollect 
but one specimen of this literature, a noble 
burst of poetry that ran thus : — 

We treats you well 

And serves ymt quick, 
And never forgets 

To cut it thick. 

VoL xxW.— 26. 

by Google 

But there was many another lyric of a 
quality equally stirring. 

I fear I am not over-enthusiastic in the 
matter of the stodge-shop— I like best to 
recall its exterior aspect and its mysterious 
steam. Internally (in 
a double sense) I 
found it a little over- 
powering* The stewed- 
eel shop I like a little 
better, though stewed 
eels I am not very fond 
of, having frequently 
seen eels alive in — 
well, in other circum- 
stances, less tempting. 
But there is a pleasant 
and business - like 
cleanliness about the 
stewed - eel shop that 
rather pleases me, 
"Jossop" is the name 
given to the gelatinous 
mass that results from 
the stewing of eels, 
in the neighbourhoods 
where its consumption 
at shop -counters is in 
favour, The word is 
said to be derived, by 
a poetical inspiration, 
from the sound that 
salutes the ear when a 
long row of customers 
is busy, each with his 
spoon and basin of 
stewed eels. Jossop is nutritious, but gluey; 
indeed, it is recommended for that very 
reason in the inscriptions which announce 
that it " Sticks to your ribs/' and that 
"This is the stuff for broken ribs, a penny a 
basin ! " 

Then there is the pie shop ; long may it 
wave ! It is one of the most ancient of our 
eating institutions, and the mutton-pies of 
London have been a thing of mystery long 
before the trouser-buUons were found in the 
sausages of Mr. Sam Welter's anecdote. 
Personally, I love mystery, and I hope that no 
meddlesome official —food inspector, or what 
not — will ever lift the crust which conceals the 
secret of the penny meat -pie. As it is, the 
scope of conjecture for the imaginative remains 
as wide as ever, and the customer's thoughts as 
he consumes his pie are directed into useful 
channels of comparative and speculative 
natural history : a thing which every pro- 
moter of secondary education will wish to 

Original from 




But there are dining places, cheap and 
dear, outside London, though you 1 might not 
thnifc so* to- read what I have been writing. 
A sort that I remember with pleasure is the 
Dublin cockle-shop* Being Irish, it is called 
a rocldeshop because you go there to eat 
prawns; and Dublin prawns, being Irish, 
too r are a sort of small lo hster or crayfish. 
Now, I believe that in Dublin the cockle- 
shops are not regarded as dining p lares, 
strictly speaking ; but when I was in Dublin. 
I dined, supped; lunched, and stayed all day 
in a cockle-shop, and that is what I advise 
others to do, keeping strictly to Dubfin 
prawns and Dublm srout. 

The cheapest dining place I even heard of 
in Paris was one m which for the sum of one 
single penny — ten 
centimes— you could 
obtain all the e\ ele- 
ment of gambling for 

yout dinner, aW the pride of winning it by a 
feat of dexterity, and, perhaps the dinner 
itseFf. By- way of receipt for the penny paid 
in advance you were gjven a fork with which 
you advanced to the side of a vast caldron, 
full of savoury liquor, in which aFF sorts of 
things w T ere stewing — at any rate, so you 
were told : fowls, joints, rabbits* ribs of 
beef — anything you like to imagine, alT bob- 
bing and tumbling under the surface. You 
flung your fork dart wise into the broth, and 
anything you could stick it firmly into was 
your own. If you missed— as most people 
did — you got nothing but a very inadequate 
plateful of the broth. The customers came 
in Hacks t and Hung in so many forks 
which didn't come out sgain that the 
broth became, itt the main, a 
sort of fork soup, and the 
proprietor made a very respect- 
able little fortune* 

i *t^ "*^3^^— ■■He 


by Google 

Original from 

H7(?p™w€ tf- J&^ * r noc 

HE two women were dressed 
in black of a very different 
quality ; and the woman with 
the baby was a widow. She 
wore the cheap black, but the 
baby's clothes did not match 
it —they were white clothes with black bows 
about them, and the stuff was fine* He was 
a clean and rosy, fair-haired baby, accepting 
everything with unwondering blue eyes, 
sbiqe everything alike passed understanding ; 
but he drew his mother's attention to things of 
interest, the red automatic machines and the 
white horses drawing trucks in a siding, with 
a waggle of his arm and an inarticulate, but 
quite comprehensible, murmur on two notes, 
a low note and then a higher, prolonged, 
"Ah— eh — h— h ! " His mother gave him but 
a distracted attention ; for the most part her 
sad eyes gazed down the vista of the railway 
at a vision of a South African battle-field. 
When at his murmur she turned her race to 
him, it lost its sad dreaminess and shone 
with the divine passion ; she almost smiled 
when she spoke to him, 

I^ady iJrysdale watched the baby with 
eyes which never left him, eyes filled with 
the last covetous hunger; sometimes there 
gleamed in them an envy very near a veritable 
hatred of his mother. Now and then she 
twisted her hands in a very passion of greed. 
Twice she made a step towards him and 



checked herself, staring round a little wildly. 
In the violence of her desire she actually 
dared not trust herself to speak to him. 
Lost in her un happiness, his mother saw 
nothing 6f it. 

Presently the train came in, and lady 
Drysdale watched the mother climb into a 
third-class compartment ''for ladies only/' 
and bidding the wondering porter, who had 
opened the door of a first-class compartment 
for her, bring in her wraps and dressing-bag, 
climbed in after them and! with a happy sigh, 
sat down in the corner farthest from the 
mother and child. The train started, The 
mother sat in a spiritless dejection, holding 
the baby so that lie < uulcl stand and look 
out of the window* Now and again, when 
he drew her attention to something of interest 
with more than usual emphasis, she roused 
herself to talk to him awhile, but she soon 
fell back into her unhappy reverie. Lady 
Drysdalc's gaze never left him, and once 
or twice he looked at her with familiar 
eyes, as though he knew her quite well, and 
every look thrilled her. 

Then she played her trump-card ; she took 
her dressing-bag down from the rack and, 
opening it, revealed the shining row of 
silver -stoppered bottles. 

The baby had turned at her movement, 
and at the shining sight his eyes opened 
very wide; he murmured u Ah— eh — h — h !'* 

Original from 





and began to struggle against his mother's 
arm. She looked round, saw the open 
dressing-bag, and held him tighter, 

"Ah— eh-h-h ! Ah— eh— h— h I* he 
saicL His lower lip went down, and he 
burst into a roar of anguished disappointment. 

** Oh, let him come I Let him come ! " 
cried I*ady Drysdale, eagerly. 

fc * He will bother you," said his mother, 

" No, no," said I^ady Drysdale, earnestly. 

His mother set him on the floor, and he 
rushed wildly down the carriage and tumbled 
up against Lady Drysdale's knee* Her 
hands shook so that she could scarcely lift 
him on to the sent beside her ; he nearly 
dived into the bag in his eagerness to handle 
the bright treasures- She gave him bottle 
after bottle, until he wallowed in bottfes, 
clamouring his shrill joy. His mother 
watched him a little while, and then fell 
back into her unhappiness* l^ady Drysdale 
took him on to her knee, a bottle m either 
hand, and he tried to explain to her, in his 
inarticulate fashion, the intimate connection 
of these shining things with the ultimate 
mysteries \ life and education had blunted 
her understanding. 

Presently it was time for hfm to be fed, 
and his mother took a bottle of some baby 
food out of her shabby little bag, poured 
some into a mug, Invested him with a 


napkin, and ftd 
him, After it he 
ate a sponge-cake 
and a banana- 
travelling had not 
spoiled his appe- 
tite* lady Drys- 
dale took him on 
her knee and 
gave him the 
banana in bites 
of the proper size. 
When, after being 
filled, he went to 
sleep in Lady 
DrysdaIe T s arms, 
with the free- 
masonry of 
mothers the two 
women began to 
exchange confi- 
dences. They 
cried over the 
death of Lady 
Diysdale's little 
hoy, whom she 
had lost just 
nineteen months before at the exact age 
of the sleeping child, and who, she said 
again and again, was extraordinarily like 
him, of the same colouring, the same eyes, 
and the same ways. Then they cried 
over the death of the widow's husband, an 
Imperial Yeoman killed in South Africa. At 
last the baby's mother was moved by Lady 
Drysdale** sympathy to confide to her her 
horrible dread of the future. She was on her 
way to London to live with her people; 
London did not suit the boy, and she was 
tortured by the fear of his pining away there. 
Moreover, her stepmother did not like her, 
and hated children ; she would be unkind to 
him. lady Drysdale pressed him closer to 
her, and schemes for saving him began 
to float through her mind. 

She was silent, thinking hard. Suddenly 
there came a grinding grating jar* and the 
carriage swayed and jerked. Lady F>rysdale 
was conscious of curling instinctively round 
the ch?!d to shield him, of being flung here 
and there : then came a great crash, and all 
wns stilL She was roused from the shock by 
the screams of the child, and she found 
herself Jying, still curled round him, on the 
top of hrs mother The carriage seemed to 
be on its side, and they lay in a heap across 
the lower windows of it. Shaken and da*ed, 
she drew herself off the child's mother, and 
began hurriedly* with trembling fingers, to 
Original from 




fed? h» head m& arms and fegs and ribs : 
none of his bones wore; broken, and he 
screamed wkh a re asmrm g vigour. She set 
lire dtown and tHrroedf to hris mother. She 
fey, deathly white, i» a b»ddted heap; Lady 
Drysdale tried to lift her info an easier 
position ; her bead hung Kmp on* her 
shoulders ; she pat her hand behind it, and 
found* the back of it all crashed. She wiped 
her band on the enshiow, and thrust it into 
the injured woman's dress over her heart; 
there was not a beat 

In the first shock of horror she was 
stricken with panic, and, catching up the 
ehifc^ in a furious desire to be out of this 
chamber of death; she screamed again and 
again for help; Presently two men looked 
down through the windows above her head 
and opened the door. She thrust up the 
child into their hands, and when they had 
set it down they caught her wrists and began 
to hauf her op. Using the supports of 
the rack as steps, she relieved them of some 
of her weight and was dragged out She 
sarnie down sobbing beside the child ; and 
the two men, bidding her not give way, went 
on to the next compartments to haul more 
people emt. 

She soon recovered enough to start sooth- 
ing the child At the sight of some blood 
on his mouth her heart sank with the fear of 
internal injury. It was only a cut lip. The 
soothing trim composed her, and she began 
to think dearly, gazing round at the scene. 
The train had run off the line ; the engine, 
wantoning in its freedom, had ploughed its 
way up to an dm- tree and tried to butt it 
down. Three carriages lay on their sides; 
their passengers were hobbling or crawling 
about on the upper sides of them ; some were 
still dragging people up out of the compart- 
ments. Three carriages still stood on the 
metals, and the two others stood in a crooked 
slant on the embankment The passengers 
from these were streaming about the fallen 
ones. The air was filled with a mingled 
clamour; the engine in a cloud of steam 
was sfezKng shrilly ; the passengers were 
shouting inquiries, suggestions about getting 
down, and theories of the cause of the catas- 
trophe at one another ; women were in 

It seemed to Lady Drysdale that she and 
the boy might have been in a desert for all 
the notice anyone took of them ; and, fright- 
ened by the din, he clung to her, clutching 
her tightly, his fittle body shaken by great 
mbs after his crying. She had but realized 
their loneliness when a sudden idea sprang 

Digitized by Gi 

up in* her mind and filled it on the instant 
with a very rage of possession. Why should 
she not take the boy? She began quickly 
to consider the matter and her chances of 
getting hiku His father was dead. . . . His 
raot&CF uas dead. . . . No one wanted him. 
... At any rate, his mother had made it 
plain to her that his grandfather and grand- 
mother, who alone had a right to him, did 
not want him; . . . They would neglect or 
misuse him. . - . She wanted! him. . . . 
Qfa* how she wasted Bam! . . . He was 
the living image of her dead child. . . . 
Heaven had givers hum to bee instead of her 
lost darling. . . . Besides* she had a right to 
him, for she had saved has life. . . . And, 
again, she could give bias the proper case and 
love. . . . She would take him ! . . .. Right 
or wrong, she would take him ! 

In this cursory and disjointed fashion she 
settled the moral question^ and turned to the 
practical matter of stealing him. She looked 
round carefully and, under the impulse of 
her purpose, stealthily. The passengers were 
still busy with their injuries and theories of 
the cause of the catastrophe. She made up 
her mind to sever all connection between 
herself and the wrecked torn, and she 
scanned the country. A couple of hundred 
yards from the line a high road ran parallel 
with it ; beyond rose a great slope of woods 
and fields, up the slope ran a white footpath. 
The slope seemed familiar to her ; at any 
rate, her path with the child lay over it. 
Somewhere on the other side was a railway 
other than the North-Western which would 
carry them to London. 

She went to the edge of the carriage roof, 
called imperiously to an excited old gentle- 
man, and handed the boy down to him. He 
was too excited to refuse or even protest. 
He held him gingerly, gasping. She lowered 
herself over the edge of the carriage and, 
getting a foot-hold on the rim of the lamp- 
hole, jumped from it to the ground and 
relieved him of his burden. 

" This is the result of carelessness — gross 
carelessness ! " stuttered the old gentleman. 
u I tdl you, madam, they have neglected to 
look after the metals. I call it perfectly " 

" Where are we?" said Lady Drysdale, 
cutting bra* short. 

" They teff me we are two miles north of 
King's Langfey. Such wanton carelessness 
is quite inconceivable ! I can't under- 
stand "" 

She turned her back on him and walked 
alongside the fallen carriages towards the end 
of the field. She knew where she was ; the 

\_f \ 1 LI 1 1 I '.1 1 I l nJ I I 





winter before her marriage her people had 
been kept in town and she had come down 
here twice a week to hunt. Over the slope, 
ten miles across country, she could strike 
the Metropolitan at Rick mans worth and take 
a train to Baker Street. No one could coiv 
nect her and the boy with the wrecked train 
if they landed In London at Baker Street, 

Whenever they passed one of the noisy, 
argumentative groups the baby clutched her 
and nestled his face against her cheek. 
livery time he did it he set her heart ham- 
mering against her ribs and hardened her in 
her purpose. She turned up the hedgerow 
towards the high-road, climbed over three 
fences, and came into it opposite the foot- 
path up the slope. She crossed the stile 
and began to mount it quickly, casting 
timorous glances behind her to see if she 
were followed ; once she thought that she 
saw people pointing at her from ihe wrecked 
train. She set her teeth, hugged the boy to 
her, and pressed on the quicker. She could 




not feel her bruises for the joy of 
having him* 

She walked for nearly an hour, 
then she had to stop ; a baby of 
nineteen months is no light 
weight, and for all that she was 
strong and in good condition, her 
arms and legs and back were 
aching. She climbed over a stile 
into a meadow, far over the brow 
of the slope; set him down, 
threw herself down beside him, 
and abandoned herself to her 
joy in him. She hugged him, 
kissed him, nuzzled him, laughed 
over him, and cried over him* 
He took her tenderness in very 
good part and made no com- 
plaint ; indeed, when at last she 
lay still, he clambered about. her 
with chuckles of infinite delight; 
always he looked at her with 
familiar eyes. 

Presently he turned his atten- 
tion to Nature, and made little 
rushes at flowers near them, in- 
variably falling flat on the object 
of his desire. He had been 
trained to bravery j he did not 
howl at a tumble ; he only 
grunted and pulled himself up 
again. He knew, too t what to 
do with a flower when he had 
plucked it : he sniffed at it. She 
watched him in an absorbed, 
unfathomable joy ; the intoler- 
able hunger which had gnawed her was 

She was loth to tear herself away from her 
delightful watching ; but at last she rose and 
movtid slowly down the path, letting him 
toddle before her, or leading him by the 
hand. He would go a little way with 
thoughtful dignity, pointing out things of 
interest with a waggling arm, and saying, 
" Ah — eh — h — h ! ? * ; then he would make a 
wild rush at a flower, and she would save 
him from the ditch. She walked in a vast 
content, drinking in with greedy eyes and 
ears his every look, movement, and murmur. 
For the first time since her loss the sun was 
really shining, and she heard the birds 

The path ended in a lane running down- 
wards between high hedges ; and on the 
instant, with a cry of delight, the boy sat 
down in the thick dust and began to play 
with it, With this sport to his hand there 
was no keeping him on his feet, and she 




picked him up and 
carried him. The 
lane ran into 
another lane run- 
ning along the 
bottom of a valley, 
and turning to the 
left she plodded 
steadily on. At 
about four she 
came into a small 
village, and was 
very glad to rest 
her weary body in 
the parlour of the 
Tittle inn. She fed 
the boy on warm 


milk and bread and butter ; and it was such a 
delight to her that she could have wished him 
to go on eating and drinking for ever. The 
Landlady came in once or twice and called 
him a pretty dear and a fine child ; Lady Drys- 
dale resented her interest, but she was careful 
to gratify her rustic curiosity with a story of 
how she had brought the boy down from 
London to Rickmansworth to spend a day 
in the country, and had wandered with him 
hither. While she took her own tea the boy 
enjoyed a splendid time with a large cat — 
the cat rather endured than enjoyed it 
After tea she played with him a little ; then, 
since the landlady could not persuade the 
baker, who owned the only trap in the 
village, to drive her to Rickmansworth, she 
took the boy and went to him herself. 

Digitized by IjOOglC 

There are not 

many men who 

could refuse Lady 

Drysdale anything 

in their power to 

give her, if she put 

herself about to 

coax it out of 

them ; certainly the 

simple but grumpy 

.baker was not one 

of them ; and in 

twenty minutes she 

was being jolted 

along to the station. 

She had to wait there but 

a very few minutes for 

a train, and reached 

London at six. 

She changed her cab 
in Oxford Street, that 
there might be no tracing 
her from Baker Street to 
Grosvenor Square ; let 
herself into her house, 
and gained her room 
without meeting a servant, so that none of 
them could have told exactly at what hour she 
came home. But as soon as she had taken 
off her hat and the boy's hat and coat she 
rang for her maid, and after telling her that 
she had adopted the boy, a Berkshire child, 
that she might spread that quite inaccurate 
information, she ordered her to set the 
servants to work to bring down the cot and 
baby's bath from upstairs, and to send out 
for baby food. The boy appeared pleased 
with the pretty room, and showed his 
approval by tearing the draping round the 
toilet-table, in the intervals of waggling his 
arm and murmuring "Ah — eh — h — h ! " at 
all the bright things on it 

Lady Drysdale prepared his food herself, 
and then she set about giving him his bath. 
In the middle of it the fancy came to her 
that he was her little dead baby come back 
to her ; he was so like him, not only in his 
little body, but in his ways of splashing the 
water, of playing with the soap and the 
sponge, of crowing his delight ; besides, 
never had he looked at her as at a stranger. 
She thrust the fancy away from her, but 
it would come back. When she had fed 
him and rocked him to sleep, and sat watch- 
ing him, she played with the fancy. Could 
such things be ? Why could not such things 
be ? As her baby died, this one had been 
born. The tearing clutch of little dead hands 
was loosening from her heart. 

u I I I ■_' I I I 




Presently she heard her husband come in 
and up the stairs, not three steps at a time, 
as he had used to come on the chance of 
finding their boy still awake, but slowly. He 
opened the door and looked in, and at the 
sight of the cot he started, and stared with 
all his eves. She beckoned him, and, 
coming softly, he stood by the cot staring 
down at the sleeping child in a bewildered 

11 Good heavens!" he said, softly. *' It's 
the boy!" 

In a low voice she told him of her theft 

"^GiJOO HBAVfcNS!' hi: SAlD t >ni ii.y. 

and her precautions* He listened in a dull 
wonder, staring at the child. When she had 
done, he said nothing ; he only gazed and 
gazed. She shook his arm in a feverish 
impatience, and said in - a husky, grasping 
voice, "I must have him, Dick ! 1 must — 
I must I I tell you he is mine t" 

" By the Lord, you shall ! " said Lord 
Drysdale, waking up. 

The next day Lady Drysdale and the boy 
were on their way to Munich, Her husband 
stayed behind to watch events. The baby's 
unfortunate mother was identified by her 
stepmother, and when that lady found no 
baby awaiting her care she was exceedingly 
guarded in her inquiries about him. In the 
end she seemed to take it very easily for 
granted that he had fallen into charitable 
hands, and even seemed pleased to be rid 
of the responsibility. She told the railway 

officials that the 
child could not 
have been travel- 
ling with his 
mother. Lord 
Drysdale con- 
trived to see her 
— a thin-lipped, 
narrow - faced, 
small - eyed 
woman ; and the 
sight of her face 
sent him to 
Munich justified, 
in his own eyes, 
in keeping the 
child out of her 
clutches. The 
boy, with a wag- 
gling arm and 
his murmur of 
points out to his 
new par e n t s 
things of interest 
in the European 
capitals ; soon lie 
will have grown 
out of the recog- 
nition of anyone 
who knew him in 
England. His 
new parents are 
devoted to him 
It is wonderful* 
almost past be- 
lieving, how he has filled the gap in their 
lives : possibly it is the likeness, l^dy Drys- 
dale's feelings about him are very curious: 
often she tells herself that he is her dead 
baby come back to her. Perhaps she believes 
it— a mother's heart is, after all, the mystery 
of mysteries. 


by Google 

Original from 

Fighting Fire. 

By Jeremy Broome. 

jFram a] 


\ l l hAfa, 

RECENT disastrous fire in 
London, at which several lives 
were lost, aroused the public 
to the value of modern life- 
saving fire apparatus, and 
brought upon the London 
County Council an onslaught of public 
criticism regarding the antiquity of the 
apparatus now in use by the London Fire 
Brigade. It is probable that much of this 
criticism was unduly bitter, and that the 
equipment of the London Brigade is fairly 
satisfactory for all practical purposes, but 
that in many ways this equipment is old- 
fashioned is hardly to be denied. The fault 
is merely in the slowness of those in power 
to adopt the latest innovations in fire- fight- 
ing, some of which are illustrated in the 
following pages. They deal mostly with the 
appliances used in the United States, where 
fire-fighting has received the closest study, 
and where nearly every new idea is tested 
and, in cases of successful tests, immediately 

Times have indeed changed since the 
above photograph was taken. It represents 
a Japanese fire department in one of their 
ladder-drills in days long ago — how long ago 
we dare not say — and shows little else except 
the ladders and the remarkable agility of the 
firemen in their ordinary drill. It carries us 
back to those very happy days when the lives 
and homes of the people were dependent on 
a few men with ladders and buckets of water, 
who, skilful as they were with both, could 
rarely cope with a real conflagration. They 
V&l. ^*iv,— 26 

Digitized by dOOgle 

were useful enough for a small "blaze, 3 * as 
Lhe reporter loves to call it, but in front of 
11 devouring flames u they were as helpless as 
Canute before the approaching waves. 

Modern fire fighting is almost a profession, 
ladders still play iheir part, and w T ater is 
ever useful; but to this equipment must 
now be added the latest and most scientific- 
ally-constructed appliances, expert training, 
and brains, They may stick to their old- 
fashioned methods in the East, and reap the 
benefit in those destructive fires which are 
periodically reported to have swept whole 
towns and villages away ; but In the Western 
countries the art of fire -fighting is the 
subject of continued study, and every new 
device in life-saving or property salvage is 
keenly tested, adopted, and copied far and 
wide. Just as every minute or second is 
valuable to the fireman when rushing to a 
fire, so is each tool of his trade valuable the 
more scientific and modern it may be. 

The necessity of knowing what to do in 
case of fire is well recognised by many 
schools in the United States, nnd so-called 
il fire-drills " are of almost dnily occurrence. 
The school -children are trained by those in 
charge in such a way that, on a given signal 
{as if a real fire had broken out), the 
pupils arise, collect together, and in the 
briefest possible time quietly depart from 
the school-quarters to a place of safety, 
It is not, however, our intention here to 
dwell upon the advantages of such drills 
— which tend to decrease the possibilities 
of panic when a real fire breaks out— but 
Original from 



Fnmk a Photo bj/ Sttbbiiii, Soiton. 

life-saving in case of fire. 
Several of our illustra- 
tions, for instance, show 
the work now being done 
daily in the Cambridge 
Manual Training School 
— a work so successful as 
to have already achieved 
the honour of wide imita- 
tion. It was introduced 
into the school at the 
outset as a voluntary ele- 
ment, mainly for the sake 
of the physical exercise 
and recreation which it 
furnished ; but its greater 
usefulness ns an educa- 
tional force was so quickly 
recognised in actual prac- 
tice that it is now required 
of all the boys attending 
the school, except in the 
cases of those who are 
physically unable to 
take it. 

Every part of this fire- 
drill is under the personal 

merely to point 
out that seve- 
ral schools in 
the United 
States, having 
proved the 
value of such 
i n struction, 
have now gone 
a step farther 
in the right 
direction, and 
have begun to 
train their 
pupils in the 
of modern ap- 
pliances for 


From a Photu* by SttbMtw. fto*Wn 

supervision of some instructor, who has 
a thorough knowledge of all its details, 
and he is held responsible for the discipline 
of the boys and their officers, and for the 
safety of all during the drill. As a prelimin- 
ary, the pupils are given a course of lectures 
explaining the use of a knowledge of fire- 
prevention and fire- fighting, the present 
methods employed and the improvements 
needed They are then given a systematic 
course of exercises designed to supply a 
practical knowledge of the methods of the 
fireman. These exercises include practice 
w T ith the life-net; the use of the lifebelt and 
life-harness ; practice with the life-line gun ; 
the erection and use of ladders ; the hand- 
ling of different forms of fire-hose, including 
coupling, laying the line, and carrying the 
lines through buildings 
and up ladders j and a 
variety of other duties, 
including the handling of 
fire - extinguishers and 
other forms of emergency 

To take the place of a 
three -story building the 
boys are provided with a 
drill - tower 40ft high, 
shown in an illustration 
on page 204, This is 
equipped as a three-story 
building, with stairways, 
window-casings, etc., and 
possesses exterior shelves, 
from which jumps varying 
from 8ft, to 30ft. may be 
made into the life-net. 
Overhanging timbers are 
arranged at the top to 
support heavy iron rings, 
to which ropes may be 
fastened for practice with 
the life-belt 

The manuals of the fire 
departments in many Ame- 
rican cities vary but little 
in general character, and 
each is carefully followed 
by members of the brigade 
at drilL Security and suc^ 
cess lie in the care and 
expertness with which in- 
structions are followed* 
In Chicago, where the 
drills have reached a high 
state of proficiency, there 
are seven different styles 
of drill, which may briefly 

by K: 


Original from 



be enumerated as follows r First, the ground- 
drill, in which men and ladders are placed in 
position preparatory to scaling ; second, the 
ladder-drill, ascending and descending ; third, 
the time-drill ; fourth, standing on sill, 
ascending and descending; fifth, straddling 
sill, ascending and descending ; sixth, ascend- 
ing in an oblique di- 
rection ;and seventh, 
rope and life-line 

Probably the most 
important piece of 
life-saving apparatus 
ever invented for the 
use of firemen is the 
scaling-ladder shown 
in the illustrations. 
It was devised as a 
quick And easy means 
of escape for people 
in danger at high 
distances, and is 
made with a single 
rod of well-seasoned 
wood, with short 
cross-pieces of wood 
mortised in and pass- 
ing through it. These 
cross-pieces are 
braced with iron 
brackets. At the top 
end is a steel hook, 
3ft long, with teeth 
to pre ven t slippi ng 
from a window-sill. 
The most curious 
thing about the lad- 
der, and the one 
that arouses a queer 
sensation in the 
breast of him who 
first climbs the lad- 
der, is that it sways 
and bends, although 
it is strong enough 
to bear the weight of 
two or three men. 

The single scaling - 
spicuous part in the 


From !■ rfcapd. 

1 adder plays a con- 
most important drill 
know T n to modern fire departments, namely, 
M chain-building n with scaling-ladders* It is 
said that expert chain-builders can mount 
high structures and begin their work of 
rescue before an extension ladder can be put 
in place. The method of work is as follows : 
The first fireman, on the ground, hooks his 
ladder into a window above and quickly 
ascends. When near the top he stops and 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 

fastens his <( belt-snap" to the end of the 
ladder. The second fireman then hands his 
ladder to No* r, who hooks it to a window 
above and then ascends, followed by No, 2, 
No. 3 then hands a ladder to No* 2, who in 
turn hands it to No* i, and by this steady 
manipulation of T and a continued ascent 

on, the newly-placed 
ladders the roof is 
reached. The " belt- 
snap," which is shown 
in one of our illus- 
trations on the pre- 
vious page, secures 
the climber to his 
ladder at a point 
wheTe his arms may 
be free for work, and 
the descent is merely 
the reverse of the 
ascending move- 

Life-lines are in- 
tended for life-saving 
purposes, and accord- 
ing to one manual 
u should always be 
carried when enter- 
ing a burning build- 
ing from the ladders."' 
Great care is taken 
in laying the coil 
upon the floor to 
make sure that the 
loop end is on the 
upper side, in order 
that the rope may 
run freely. Then, 
placing the loop 
under the arms of 
the person to be 
lowered, with the 
noose to the back, 
the lireman takes 
three turns of the 
line around the snap- 
hook at his belt in 
such a manner as to 
bring the lower end of the line to the left 
side of the hook and the upper end to the 
right side. This method of winding the line 
upon the hook prevents the hook from break- 
ing and the line from becoming detached. 
(J real care is taken to keep the line tight 
between the person who is being lowered 
and the **snap" ■ and the fireman has to be 
careful not to allow his fingers to get caught 
between the rope and the snap. 

In many fires the fireman has to lower 
Original from 


THE LIFfrLlKfc. 

by Sichbin$, HotUm, 



From n Photo. Jrv Sttbbin*, Hv*ton. 

himself by the life-line. He does so by 
fastening one end of the line to some strong 
object, and then, 
tossing the rest of 
the line from the 
window, takes 
three turns of the 
line on his snap- 
hook, passes out 
of the window, 
and goes down 
the rope, taking 
great care, mean 
while, not to get 
his hands involved 
in the turns of the 
line. The illus- 
tration on the pre- 
vious page shows 
the descent of the 
lifeline by three 
men, and the care 
— and, at the same 
time, the security 
—with which it 
is accomplished 
may be easily 

imagined, By the use of a gun the life-line 
is sometimes carried to the tops of, and 
over, high buildings. The projectile of 
the gun carries with it a coil of string which 
is hurled upwards, the life-line being then 
attached to the string and hauled up to any 
point desired. 

The use of the life-net is most dramatic, 
and when it is in use at fires it always 
attracts great attention from the crowd. It 
has, moreover, been the means of saving 
thousands of lives. The net is strongly made 
of interlaced ropes, and is about zoft. in cir- 
cumference Eighteen or twenty men may 
be needed in its manipulation, and each man, 
standing with his head well thrown back and 
his left foot slightly advanced, so as to pre- 
serve equilibrium, grips the heavy outer rope 
tightly, and awaits the descent of the falling 
body- Down comes the jumper, a rebound 
from the net, and the jumper is safe on the 

It is said that a jump from the first 
or second story of a building is an easy 
thing to a fireman in one of their regular 
drills, but it tries the courage even of the 
best to jump from the fourth story* There 
is, it may be added, a peculiar art in holding 
the life-net, which can only be properly 
acquired by one who has himself taken the 
leap. If the net-holders brace themselves 
back too hard the force of the falling body 
may break their fingers. Again, if the net is 
held too tightly, the jumper may rebound so 

Fmym a Fh&fa &y] 




Original from 

[SUbbin$ Scrfvn* 



quickly from it as to break an arm or fracture 
a skull. 

The various drills mentioned in the fore- 
going paragraphs are taxing both to brain 
and body, and a man who can successfully 
perform all of the work demanded may be 
said to have reached the standard of expert- 
ness and fearlessness which is the aim of every 
fireman worthy of the name. The "ground- 
drill " merely gives the men facility in hand- 
ling the ladders. The * b time-drill ?l increases 
general quickness in execution. In the 
drill called " standing on the sill," two men 
ascend to the first window of a building 
with one ladder. No. 1 immediately enters 
the window by straddling the silL No. 2 
follows, takes a standing position on the 
ledge outside, and is held there by No. 1, 
who has a grip on his companion's snap- 
hook. No* 2 then mounts the ladder which 
he has raised to the next window, and No. 1 
follows and stands on the sill, being held 
there by No, 2* His companion now lifts 
the ladder to the next story and mounts, 
followed by No. 1. So it goes until the top 
is reached, 

"Straddling the sill" is a drill in which 
one fireman with a single ladder begins at 
the base of a building, and with a single 
ladder climbs from window to window by 

sheer skill and endurance until the top is 
reached. In order that he may have room 
to straddle on the left he hooks his ladder 
into the right-hand corner of the sill, and 
steadies his body and balances himself hy 
pressing his left leg against the wall inside 
the building. His hands are thus free to 
raise the ladder to the window above. Any- 
one who witnesses the drill may marvel at 
the dexterity with which it is done, but few, 
except those who have done it, can know 
how exhausting it is. It is the terror of the 
new recruit. 

The oblique ascent is rarely required at 
fires, but no fireman neglects this important 
drill. Many who have been at fires may 
have noted how a great volume of smoke 
sometimes pours out of a window di reedy 
over the head of an ascending fireman. At 
such a moment it becomes necessary for the 
fireman to ascend to some window at the 
right or left of that above him. This is the 
"oblique ascent," or "ascending echelon," 
as it is sometimes ealled t and owing to the 
u swinging-off" movement required to gain 
the window obliquely above it, the drill is 
very dangerous and exacting. 

In the terrible Windsor Hotel fire in New 
York City the swinging ladder feat was well 
exemplified. One of the firemen clung with 
one hand to a scaling-ladder, and with the 
other swung a second ladder to a window 
next 10 the one which held the ladder on 
standing. Then, swinging 
from one ladder to the other, 
he swung back again with 
a woman who had been in 


1 a Ph&to. bvl 


Itfte&biru, Htrtton. 

Digitized by Google 

Original from 



the fourth story of the hotel, It was a 
deed of heroism, and many deeds like it 
remain as yet unwritten. 

The life-saving drill is a product of the 
early eighties. In 1882 the burning of 
several large buildings in New York and 
Chicago, and the loss of life which resulted, 
drew general attention to the needs of fire 
departments. Inventors hurried to meet the 
demands, and their offers were encouraged, 
Ex>Chief Bonner, of the New York fire 
department, made a tour and inspected 
apparatus from all quarters of the globe. 
He brought the scaling - ladder from St 
Louis, and the life -net quickly followed. 
Then came the life -belt (shown in one 
of our illustrations), which is made of a 
heavy strap with a long snaffle, and is used 
in holding the firemen on their scaling- 
ladders. The introduction of all this import- 
ant apparatus necessitated the introduction 
of the drills, now so important a feature 
of regular departmental work in all large 
American cities. 

Each day brings with it some new 
" wrinkle TJ for use in fighting flames, and the 
prime object of all the new ideas is either to 
make the fireman's calling less hazardous to 
himself or to enhance his efficiency as a life 
or property saver. One of the latest ideas is 
that of the u light engine," which, by means 
of a searchlight that will throw its heams 
over a wide area, will eliminate one of the 
greatest dangers to the fireman, namely, 
darkness at night Again, there is the " lift;- 
saving cage," 
which is run up 
the side of a 
ladder in order 
that panic- 
stricken or dis- 
abled persons 
may safely be 
brought down 
from burning 
buildings. An- 
other valuable 
contrivance is 
the " smoke-hel- 
met," used by 
firemen in places 
so filled with 
smoke that 
breathing with- 
out the use of 
the helmet 
would be im- 

possible. The eyes of the helmet are 
made of strong isinglass, protected exter- 
nally by wire, and the air is supplied 
from a light nickel reservoir, carried at 
the hack of the helmet, and constantly 
kept charged with compressed air, At 
the regulation pressure of 8olb, the helmet 
will carry enough air to supply a man for 
several hours. 

It is to be hoped that the near future will 
witness the establishment of regular schools 
for the technical study of fire-extinguishment, 
in which anyone who cares to make that 
subject his life-work may gain a liberal 

One of New York's well -known fire 
experts, Mr. Simon Brentano, has already 
proposed the establishment of such an insti- 
tution and in an address, which he delivered 
some years ago, at the annual meeting in 
Milwaukee of the National Association ol lire 
Engineers, he showed the need of a school 
of fire-extinguishment, and expressed a hope 
that those in charge of large industrial 
plants and of valuable property could be 
taught efficiency in the use of the stationary 
appliances that were usually present, and so 
co operate with the regular fire department, 
instead of being a detriment to them. The 
idea at that time gained the immediate 
support of manufacturers and other business 
men, to say nothing of the valuable support 
given by trained firemen, such as the chiefs 
and ex-chiefs of many fire departments 
throughout the country. 

From a Fk>to> tp ] 


by Google 

Original from 

Notable Australian Batsmen. 
By c. B, Frv, 

I HE elder Banner man was called 
*'the Grace of Australia," but 
the nearest counterpart to 
\\\ G. among the Australians 
is, beyond doubt, W. L. 
Murdoch. It is almost im- 
possible to estimate properly the relative 
merits of this great batsman and of the fore- 
most of the younger generation of Colonial 
players. How can we say whether Trumper 
is his equal or, if not, how nearly so? Any- 
how, Murdoch runs through about two-thirds 
of Anglo - Australian 
cricket as the 
champion batsman of 
Australia. His run- 
getting was always 
very consistent in the 
teams he played for, 
and he did some 
great performances in 
the most important 
matches. It is rather 
difficult to detach him 
now from English 
cricket, in which he 
still plays so welL He 
has to his credit the 
highest score ever 
made by either an 
Englishman or an 
Australian in a test 
match — 2ii, made at 
the Oval in 1884 ; 
the next highest being 
S. E, Gregory's 201, 
made at Sydney ten 
years later. Murdoch 
also scored 153 in 
the Oval test match 
of 18S0. W. G* 
writes of him : u The 
perfect ease and con- 
fidence of his batting 
is very conspicuous. 
Cutting is his forte, though his clean, hard 
driving is delightful to watch. His placing 
and timing ire wonderfully skilful." His 
play may be summed up as a fine blend of 
science and cf brilliance. It is most difficult 
for a bowler to persuade him into a stroke 
which ought not to be made ; but the moment 
a ball comes that suits his forcing strokes 
he unslips his bat at it most heartily. 
Two famous strokes of his are his forward 

W. L. 1 

Fran h FhaUr, by 


cut and his off drive past cover-point. In 
making the forward cut he steps out with his 
left foot as though to play forward, and clips 
the ball when almost past him with a good 
deal of slice* In driving past cover-point he 
seems to take an estra long stride forward 
and to time the ball on the rise ; after the 
stroke his right foot is generally 6in. or more 
outside the crease* He seems to swing his 
bat in a small circle of which his wrists 
make the centre* 

Australian teams have on the whole been 
somewhat short of 
batsmen who may be 
described as genuine 
hitters. Of this sort 
there have been really 
only four — G. J. 
Bon nor, P. S. Mc- 
Donnell, H, H. 
Massie, and J. J. 
Lyons* There have 
been others among 
them who could hit 
and did so at times, 
yet cannot be de- 
scribed as hitters in 
the sense that they 
relied almost alto- 
gether upon hard hit- 
ting and made them- 
selves reputations by 
unadulterated driving, 
G. J. Bon nor was 
an altogether remark- 
able physical speci- 
men. He stood 6ft 
6in* and weighed 
ijst, but so well was 
he proportioned that 
he was quick and 
active to a degree. 
He was a very fast 
runner, who did 
1 ooyds, in something 
like level time, and he could throw a 
cricket ball over 120yds* In batting he 
had, of course, a very long reach and a 
very long swing. He did not, as a rule, 
run out to hit, but simply took a forward 
stride with his left foot and swung at the 
pitch of the ball, straight and with no pull in 
the stroke, His best hits were usually either 
directly over the bowler's head or a little to the 
right or left Owing to his reach it was very 
Original from 

llaukuiw, FirtpkPm. 



The great English 

difficult to bowl him a ball he could not 
hit fairly easily, for directly the ball was 
too short for him to get more or less 
to the pitch of it, it was ^ so short as 
to be easily played, 
hitter contemporary 
with Bonnor was 
C L Thornton, and 
it was much debated 
which of the two could 
hit the farthest j both 
of them made some 
tremendously long 
hits. Long hitting is 
not quite synonymous 
with hard hitting^ so 
it is difficult to decide 
whether either of these 
two hit harder than 
others, but they seem 
to have hit farther. 
Bonnor had scarcely 
any strokes besides 
his drives, and was 
not so versatile a hitter 
as McDonnell or 
Lyons. It is always 
said of Bonnor that 
he had too much of 
a fancy for abandon- 
ing his hitting in 
favour of a stylish for- 
ward game, which he 
was convinced he 
could play just as 
well as his own proper 
game. According to 
those who saw him 
play often, he had not much defence, and 
depended for his success upon going 
vigorously for the bowling. This may be 
true, but a man who can hit as Bonnor could 
and does not do so is liable not to receive 
full credit for his attempts at a quieter style, 
However* he was beyond doubt an extra- 
ordinary pure hitter, and did his best 
performances in that role. 

There is a general consensus of opinion 
among English cricketers that P, S. 
McDonnell was the best hitter that ever 
came over from Australia, Like Bonnor, he 
hit chiefly firm-footed, but he was also very 
quick on his feet, and could get out to a ball 
if he wished to. He was a very hard rather 
than a very long hitter ; indeed, most of his 
hits went low. He had a good defence, and 
could play all sorts of strokes. He played 
forward well with a peculiar sort of push 
which seemed rather stiff compared with his 


Front a I'hoto. by tlnu ti*u, Briahton. 

by GoOglc 

free driving. He hit from his hips, and the 
remarkable point about his hitting was its 
wonderful precision ; he very rarely made 
a mistake, and even if he did not quite get 
to the ball he hit so hard that most of his 

miss-hits went clear 
of the fielders. He 
is reckoned to have 
been one of the finest 
batsmen ever seen on 
bad wickets. He 
seemed able to hit 
with almost the same 
certainty when the 
bowlers could do what 
they liked with the 
ball as when the pitch 
gave them no assist- 
ance. There has pro- 
bably never been a 
batsman more cap- 
able of winning a 
match by his own 
single-handed efforts 
on a thoroughly bad 
wicket, There was a 
certain element of 
safety in his aggres- 
siveness that distin- 
guished him from the 
majority even of the 
best hitters, 

J. J. Lyons played 
a lot of very brilliant 
cricket in England. 
He also ranks with 
the firm-footed hitters; 
in fact, he practically 
always hit with his right foot i nsidc the 
crease. He is reckoned in Australia to have 
had more strokes than even McDonnell, but 
not so sound a defence nor the same ability 
to surmount the difficulties of a bad wicket. 
He had a fine slash drive on the off not 
unlike Massie's, and could also drive straight 
both alon^ the ground and In the air, hut 
on driving was his forte, at any rate as he 
played over here. He hit with a kind of 
exaggerated tap, and seemed to obtain his 
power chiefly from his wrists. The force 
and length of his drives, especially to 
the on, were out of all proportion to 
the slight exertion he appeared to make. 
Though a heavily-built man with tremendous 
shoulders, in the best innings he played here 
he relied less upon sheer strength than upon 
quickness of swing and accurate timing. 

Two batsmen not usually included in the 
category of hitters might almost be described 
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Prom a Photo, by //au4uu t ^njiMm, 

as such — namely, George Giffen and J. 
Worrall. The latter proved himself a most 
useful bat in the 1899 team upon bowlers* 
wickets, for on these he united a sound 
defence with excellent judgment in picking 
the right hall to hit* George Giffen's repu- 
tation has always been regarded, and justly 
so, as above all that of a great all-round 
cricketer. But he stands very high as a 
batsman alone. His batting was of the 
highest class nearly every time he came over, 
and he proved himself the most successful 
batsman in the 1886 team. He played in 
beautiful style, very freely, yet watching the 
ball carefully. He usually scored quickly 
with well-timed strokes all round the wicket, 
but he could, if he chose, hit magnificently; 
indeed, in a way that showed he might, had 
he cared, have gone in for pure hitting with 
great success. At practice he used some- 
times to make long, high hits which were 
little, if at all, short of the best Bon nor could 

The i8y6 team, which was captained by 
G. H. S. Trott, was very powerful in 
batting. Indeed, although the balance of 
opinion favours Murdoch's famous teams 
of 1&82 and 1884 as being rather stronger, 
there are some good judges who consider 
Trott J s team to have been absolutely 
the best batting team that has yet come 
over. Trott himself was a batsman of 
the highest class, a fine off- driver and 
cutter, a strong hitter of bowling that suited 
him, and strong in defence. He could 
play on all kinds of wickets, and had a 
knack of being able to produce his best 
effort when things were going badly for 
his side. He could sit down to very im- 
pervious cricket without losing his grace 
and ease of style. H. Graham, too, 
although he fell ill and did not piny up 
to his form that year, was a fine batsman 
— not exactly a hitter, but decidedly a 
forcing player. In his first tour in England 
in 1893 he actually headed the averages 
of Mc Black ham's team. He was a quick- 
footed bat, who generally moved out of 
his ground to meet the ball Then, in 
addition to Giffen, already mentioned, and 
Darling, Hill, and Gregory, there was 
Frank Iredale, a batsman of charming 
style* and finish, Iredale was generally 
considered an uncertain starter, but there 


Fwk fl rhoto. H r/au*™, Brighton 




was no doubt about bis class when he once 
got set. He played over here some very 
beautiful innings. More than any other 
Australian batsman, he showed the kind 
of form associated in England with a 
careful cricket education on public school 
lines ; he might well have been a product of 
Eton coaching and tradition. Few of the 
Australian batsmen, even the best of them, 
have been remarkable for polish of style such 
as is so much admired 
in v for instance, LCH. 
Palairet and IV. Gunn ; 
but Iredale will always 
be remembered for his 
elegance as well as for 
his runs. 

Of the eleventh team, 
which is at present in 
England, the senior 
man among the bats- 
men is S* E. Gregory, 
He came for the first 
time with the seventh 
team in 1890, the last 
captained by W, L, 
Murdoch j and he has 
been included^ever 
since. It was his field- 
ing that originally 
brought him to the 
front ; indeed, it was 
his remarkable capacity 
at cover-point rather 
than his skill with the 
bat that won him his 
place in 1890; but, as 
was the case with A, C Bannerman, if he 
came to field he stayed to bat. Both on 
his subsequent performances in run-getting 
and also on his style of play he must be 
reckoned among the finest of Australian 
batsmen. He is not at all a common 
kind of player, and not at all the kind 
of player one would expect to be produced 
upon the extra fast pitches which prevail in 
Australia. He is a decidedly small man, but 
you do not much notice his lack of inches 
when he is batting, because he stands very 
upright both in waiting for the ball and also 
in playing his strokes. With the single ex- 
ception of Ran jit Sinhji he is the latest player 
I have ever seen ; by this I mean that he 
selects and plays his stroke more than any- 
one but Ranjit Sinhji at the very latest 
available instant during the flight of the 
ball from the bowler's hand. Often he 
seems actually to allow* the ball to pitch 
and rise from the ground before he shapes 

fVorn a. Phato. /»,• 

by GoOgJC 

for his stroke ; he has his bat ready in 
time, of course, but does not begin to 
move it to meet the ball till the ball is all but 
past him. And the better form he is in the later 
he play?. Yet so quick is he on his feet and 
with his bat that he is not at all inclined to play 
too late. This quality of playing late, yet 
not too late, tells greatly in favour of the bats- 
man possessing it ; because the longer the 
batsman can give himself to watch the ball 
the more likely is he to 
play it with absolute 
precision. Gregory 
practically never plays 
forward; at any rate, he 
does not reach out with 
a stride *at the pitch of 
the ball. At good- 
length balls even on a 
fast wicket he plays 
hark, moving a little 
towards his wicket. 
Sometimes, but rarely r 
he runs out to drive 
with a quick, neat-footed 
little shuffle and hits 
along the ground with 
a quick turn of his 
wrists. He is a re- 
markable exponent of 
cutting; he can cut the 
ordinary shortish ball 
outside the off- stump 
just behind point very 
hard, but he can also 
cut balls pitched much 
farther up; he has a 
knack of clipping down on the hall when 
it is almost in the wicket-keeper's hands, 
and of placing it safely along the ground 
right through the slips, I have seen him 
cut balls so far pitched up that he might 
easily by playing forward have reached 
to the pitch of them and forced them in front 
of the wicket He is also very clever at 
hooking the ball round to leg ; he shifts his 
feet smartly so as to be well the other side of 
the ball, and keeping his bat nearly upright 
persuades the ball round with a smooth, neat 
flick* He does this off quite good length 
balls from fast bowlers, especially right- 
hand bowlers like Lock wood and Richard- 
son, who break on to him from the 
off. And he makes the stroke even when 
the ball rises what is to him chest high. 
Another notable stroke of his is one he 
makes from a ball so far pitched up as to be 
practically a yorker ; he comes down upon it 
and nicks it just as it rises from the ground, 
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Ihiti -A- 1 HP, /iYl;.\', f. PI. 


21 I 

but instead of completely smothering it, as 
most batsmen do, he contrives to work his 
bat so that the face is well turned to the off, 
and the ball flies past the fielder at point. 
Here, again, it is his wrists that do the trick— 
and very precise timing. Altogether he is 
a very neat and attractive player; and he 
plays so quietly and naturally that you do 
not at first notice his peculiarities, or } for the 
matter of that, how quickly he scores. 
Perhaps his finest innings was the 201 
he made against England at Sydney in 
1894. But he has scored several other 
centuries in these big games. In fielding at 
cover-point he is extra- 
ordinarily quick in 
covering ground, picking 
up and returning the 
ball It is done in a 
little black and white 
flash, and woe betide 
the stealer of a short 
run. Apart from his 
quick, low return from 
cover-point, he is a very 
long thrower, capable of 
nearly 120yds. Like 
G. L. Jessop, he saves 
so many runs in the field 
that he is worth his 
place even when he fails 
to score. It has been 
said of him, " No wonder 
he can field, he is so 

J + DA 

Frtfm t % to bjf 

near the ground," But 
that does not quite ex- 
plain his skill. 

Two great thorns in 
the sides of English 
howlers are J* Darling 
and Clem Hill, for be- 
sides being great bats- 
men they are both left- 
handers, and there is 
no doubt that bowlers find left-handers very 
inconvenient opponents. 

Darling's first visit to England was with 
the 1896 team, which was captained by 
G, H. S. Trott Of the 1899 team he was 
captain, and he leads the present team. His 
cricket history is rather interesting. George 
Giflfen, in his book, "With Bat and Ball," 
tells how Darling first came into prominence 
by scoring 252 in a school match at the age 
of fifteen, and how about that time he 
played through the season with a leading 
junior club without losing his wicket, except 
on one occasion when he was run out. 
Had he stayed in one of the big towns his 

cricket career, after such a beginning, would 
have been simple sailing. fi But his father 
sent him away/' writes GifiTen, "to manage a 
farm in one of the back blocks, and he was 
not seen in good cricket again until he had 
completed his twenty-third year/' Then he 
came back to the haunts of big cricket, and 
within two years was chosen to play for 
Australia. He made 117 the first time he 
ever saw English bowling, and 17S in the 
final test match against Stoddart's team. 
The art of cricket is usually longer 
than that. Think of an English player 
who, without having any good-class cricket 
after leaving school, 
came into county cricket 
at twenty- three, and into 
the England eleven after 
a year and a half ! That 
man would be a remark- 
able natural cricketer, 
and such must Darling 
be. And the same trait 
came out later on, for he 
has several times re- 
turned from up-country 
farming into big cricket 
and played successfully. 
He is a determined, re 
sourceful, and very 
dangerous batsman. 
The men of Stoddart's 
team in 1898 held him 
in great respect ; indeed, 
I hey regarded him as 
their most formidable 
opponent. He showed 
himself a master bats- 
man in that he could 
play in several styles 
with equal success. He 
could sit down and graft 
with the most dogged 
d e f e n ee ; he could 
hard cuts and forward 
he could adopt the 



play freely with 
strokes ; and also 
tactics of a thoroughgoing hitter, 
is more, he made each different style while 
he used it appear absolutely natural to him. 
There have been few batsmen so completely 
strong at the same time in safety and in 
brilliance. He has always done well in 
England, hut cricketers who saw him in 
Australia maintain that, fine as his play 
has been here, we have not really seen 
all of which he is capable. When on his 
careful lay his chief scoring strokes are a 
squarish cut, not a flick, but a plumb, vigor 
ous knock, and a well-timed off-drive between 
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cover and extra-cover. But you can see 
from the way he stands that he always has 
a genuine hit up his sleeve. When he lets 
himself go lie drives with great Force on both 
sides of the wicket He usually runs down 
the wicket to meet the ball when hitting- 
His biggest hit goes high over mid-on's 
head, and it is a big ground out of which 
he cannot drop the ball in this direc- 
tion. Sometimes, too, he makes this 
high drive straight over the bowler's head. 
But his hits otherwhither than to the 
on-stdc usually go low, skimming clear 
out of reach of the in fields and bouncing 
well in front of the out -fields* He is 
judgmatic in picking his ball to hit, and even 
when going his fastest does not give the im- 
pression of risking his wicket. He takes his 
risk with the odds in his own favour. There 
is something solid and grim about his play, 
as though he had made plans for his innings 
beforehand and does not mean to depart from 
thim. Even when 
out of form he 
makes runs and is 
an obstacle to 
bowlers — for he is 
a fighting batsman, 
level - headed and 
cool 3 a most obsti- 
nate wicket. 

Clem Hill, the 
other famous left- 
hander, is an alto- 
gether different 
player from Darling, 
but, like him, has 
an interesting his- 
tory. As a boy he 
went several better; 
playing for the same 
school for which 
Darling was so suc- 
cessful, in the same 
match some years 
afterwards he scored 
360. He was chosen 
to represent Aus 
tralia before he was 
twenty, and in his 
teens compiled big 
innings against our 
best bowlers. Both 
)n England and 
Australia his per- 
formances have stamped him as a big 
match plover, one of the elect that have 
consistently stored highly in test matches. 
He resembles Darling in being patient, 

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From o Photo, bjt H^wkirtf^ Brighton, 

judgmatic, and self- possessed, especially cool 
and collected in emergencies ; but his style 
is quite distinct He stands at the wicket 
with his knees bent and his feet rather far 
apart, holds his bat rather low on the handle, 
and settles himself in something of a crouch, 
He has the normal left-hander's cut, but it is 
more of a tap with a flickering bat than a 
regular slap as Darling's is. He drives on 
the off, not, like Darling, with an outright 
swing, but with a kind of magnified push, 
chiefly from the wrists. When he hits 
in front of the wicket he dances, 
with three or four short steps, out to 
the ball and delivers a kind of thrust,, 
something between a push and a drive ; and 
he is peculiarly clever at keeping the ball 
along the ground. He rarely hits in the air, 
and when he does so it is a low, skimming 
hit. One curious point in his play is that he 
often dances out as if to drive and then plays 
forward instead. He has Ins own way of 

playing and it is 
very effective ; even 
when hitting he 
keeps his right 
elbow well forward 
and the handle of 
the bat well in front 
of the bottom of the 
blade, consequently 
he is always well 
over the ball. His 
great run - getting 
stroke is on the on- 
side from outside 
mid-on round to 
fine long-leg, and 
he makes it for the 
most part off balls 
that are pitched on 
the w T icket He 
moves round some- 
what in front of his 
wicket, but very 
slightly so, and 
somewhat back- 
wards, and meets 
the ball with a little 
upward stab, at the 
same time giving a 
flickering turn of 
the wrists, so that 
the face of the hat 
meets the ball 
aslant ; yet he gives the ball the full face 
of the hat, apparently, till the instant of 
impact; the ball seems, if I may so describe 
it, to rest <ffl r ; the Jpffi-, ,ftf his bat for an 



2l S 

instant, and in that instant the bat is 
turned so that the ball is deflected to 
the on-side. His bat is quite upright 
during the stroke, and he plays the 
ball with the bottom sin. or so of the 
blade, and he seems to put an upward draw 
into the stroke rather as some lawn-tennis 
players do. The stroke is not a pull and it 
is not a hook, though often so described ; 
it fetches straight balls round to leg, but as 
a stroke it is sui generis. When he is in his 
best form he makes the stroke off quite the 
perfect-length ball that most batsmen find 
sufficiently difficult to 
stop; and, moreover^ 
he can place the ball 
so freely that he can 
avoid several short- 
legs in front of and 
behind the wicket. 
One of the reasons 
why he has made such 
big scores is that the 
strokes he scores with 
are exceptionally safe. 
Even if he mistimes 
the hall there is gener 
ally just that margin 
for error that saves 
him; indeed, when 
he mistimes the ball 
he usually errs on the 
side of smothering the 
ball too much, which 
is obviously preferable 
to jigging it up in the 
air. Above all, he is 
a remarkably strong 
defensive player ; he 
stops the nasty ball 
sometimes by playing 
back, sometimes by 
playing half-cock, 
sometimes by playing 
forward, but he stops 
it somehow. He is 
really more of a for- 
ward than a back player; consequently he 
prefers fast to slow wickets, but he is always 
a difficulty to bowlers. 

The two remaining batsmen specially 
worthy of notice among the younger Austra- 
lians are M, A. Noble and V, Trumper 
Noble is pre-eminently an all-round man, of 
the highest order too, so that his value as a 
cricketer cannot be summed without refer- 
ence to his bowling. Indeed, since bowlers 
of first-rale ability are rarer than bats- 
men of similar class, most people think of 

H, A. NONI.K. 
From a t*hata. by tlairkins k flHflftf«n 

Noble as a bowler rather than as a batsman. 
But, all the same, his batting alone entitles 
him to a place among the most distinguished 
of the Australians. Many people in England 
regard him as a slow and purely defen- 
sive player; one often reads of him as of 
the same sort as Scotton, Barlow, and 
W. CJ. Quaife, This estimate, which is about 
as far From the truth as may well be, seems 
to be due to the fact that in the test 
match at Old TrafFord in 1899 he played a 
very long defensive innings, aiming almost 
exclusively at staying in and paying little 

heed to making 
strokes. But that 
innings was really 
quite exceptional in 
his case, and was the 
result of the position 
in which the Austra- 
lians happened to be 
in that particular 
match. Noble's slow 
play then simply 
showed that when 
required he could sit 
down to an effort of 
the most dogged de- 
fence. His natural 
style is quite different, 
decree (iiffen de- 
scribes him as a most 
attractive ba ts m a n, 
who, when set, scores 
all round the wicket 
very rapidly, And that 
is much nearer the 
mark ; for, although 
the strength of his 
defence is a notable 
characteristic of his 
piny, he has lots of 
beautiful strokes, 
which he uses freely 
unless the state of the 
match demands an 
extra amount of cau- 
tion. It is worth noting that (ieorge Giffen 
writes of him that "with experience he will 
doubtless take fewer risks, and without materi- 
ally diminishing his attractiveness." So evi- 
dently he is not considered a slow player in 
Australia, Like most tall, slim, long-limbed 
batsmen, he has a freedom and ease of move- 
ment that make his cricket pleasant to 
watch. Among his best strokes is a superb 
cut, so correctly made that it might be put 
into books as a model ; he picks his ball 
admirably, ^0(4*frt% WriilW^ 1, l ^ e str °ke with- 


2I 4 


out sacrificing any power. He has also a 

clever glide from the ball on the Itg- 

stump. He stands where he is, but, bending 

his knees somewhat, turns the upper part 

of his body and shoots his bat forward 

with the face slanting so that the ball 

glances away fine. He 

plays a grand off- drive, very 

correct, stepping well across 

to the ball with his left foot 

and swinging with a dead 

straight bat. He can also 

hit hard, especially on the 

on -side, but he usually 

plays an orthodox forward 

game. In estimating his 

batting feats it must not be 

forgotten that he does a 

great deal of bowling. He 

is one of the finest fielders 

at point ever seen; very 

quick and active, with 

hands that seem unable to 

miss the ball — yielding, 

prehensile hands, 

Victor Trumper, last and, 
in the opinion of many, the 
best, stands out as a bats- 
man of batsmen. In the 
whble history of Australian 
cricket there has never 
been, it is said by those 
who have seen every team 
from the first, a superior to 
Trumper in attractiveness 
of style wedded to thorough 
efficiency. He is one of 
those players who, even 
if they only stay in for 
an over or two, catch a 
cricketer's eye as tip-top batsmen. When 
he played against Stoddart's team in 
Australia, one of the Englishmen, himself a 
great batsman, offered the opinion, judging by 
two quite small innings, that Trumper would 
prove one of the finest of Colonial players. 
An Australian critic poked fun at this 
judgment and suggested that, naturally 
enough, the Englishmen wished for the 
selection of an opponent they could easily 
gel out. Hut subsequent events have proved 
the opinion to be correct. In the 1899 
Australian team Trumper was included prac- 
tically as an extra man, but he won his place 
easily enough and distinguished himself by 
making a magnificent 135 not out against 
England at Lord's. A liner innings than 
that no one could wish to see, and he has 
played plenty since equally good. His bat- 

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From ti Pfwtv by Thi&. 

ting is altogether temarkable for the number 
of strokes he has, the pace at which he 
scores, the almost unfailing accuracy with 
which he judges the length of every ball, and 
the perfection of his timing. It is scarcely 
an exaggeration to say that he has a scor- 
ing stroke for every kind 
of ball that is bowled Yet 
when he is making runs at 
his quickest pace he never 
appears to he forcing his 
play ; the bowling is simply 
made to look easy, and 
that it should be whipped 
about all over the field ap- 
pears quite natural More- 
over, he is able to play the 
same free and easy game 
on all kinds of wickets- 
fast and slow, wet and dry; 
true and treacherous. The 
features of his play are the 
accuracy with which he 
judges the length of the 
ball and the complete 
absence of any hesitation 
or half-heartedness in his 
strokes. He seems to know 
every time exactly what he 
is doing, and he makes 
quite good balls easy to 
play by the way he puts 
himself into position. It 
is a great lesson in cricket 
to watch how he uses his 
feet The power of his 
strokes comes from correct 
timing and the free play of 
his wrists; he does not 
lunge at the ball, or let fly 
with a heavy swing. He is one of the few 
batsmen equally strong on both sides of the 
wicket He has a remarkable knack of 
cutting ; he scarcely ever lets a ball go by 
on the offside of the wicket; most batsmen 
like a particular sort of ball to cut, but he 
seems to find all pretty well equally culable* 
Also he has a most peculiar knack of being 
able to play across straight balls without miss 
ing them ; sometimes be goes forward as 
though to drive the ball back at the bowler, 
but at the last moment he gives his bat a turn 
and forces the ball between mid on and 
squarele^. You never quite know where he 
will send the ball, but when he has done it 
the stroke always looks the right one. He 
does most imorthodox things, but never 
seems playing otherwise than in the best 

Original from 


The Incendiary. 

By Edwin Vunn. 

N accident suggested the idea 
to him. He had come in late 
one evening, slightly fuddled. 
It was dark in the shop, so he 
lit the gas. He used a wax 
match and Rung it down care- 
lessly. Then he went into the back parlour 
to prepare his evening meal He was 
engaged at the fire when an odd buzzing 
sound smote on his ears, and then a pungent 
odour of smoke filled his nostrils. He looked 
over his shoulder and saw that the glass 
panels of the door leading to the shop were 
bright with a flickering gleam which certainly 
did not emanate from the crackling wxxxl in 
me grate. He set down the kettle on the 
hob with a shaking hand and stumbled, 
terror-stricken, into the shop, A livid 
sheet of flame rushed out to meet him, 
and he perceived that a heap of loose 
paper on the floor had ignited. For 
a moment he was daunted. Then, sud- 
denly sobered, he swept a muddle of heavy 
books from the counter, kicked them on to 
the blazing pile, and so extinguished it. 
The whole thing was done and over in a few 
seconds ; and then he was leaning breath- 
lessly against the wall, fanning the smoke 
away from his face with nerveless hands, 
whilst the sweat streamed down his forehead 
into his eyes. Little sullen 
threads of fire still ran and 
pulsed through the reeking, scat- 
tered heap. He stamped them 
out. And still fear was upon him, 
so that he turned the charred 
fragments over and over with his 
toe until not a spark remained. 
Then he crept back into his 
parlour, utterly spent, and sat 
down heavily and rested his head 
on his hands. 

He was a moody, silent man 
for the rest of that evening. 

About nine o'clock his son 
Lance came lounging in — the 
son whom he loved even better 
than he loved gin ; the son who 
had always been at once the pride 
and the plague of the old man's 
life. He was a boy some twelve 
or thirteen years old, big and 
strong and not ill-looking, though 

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of a dour, sullen countenance. His looks 
did not belie his nature* To use a homely 
phrase, there was no doing anything with 
M aster Lance. 

He had had more chances than usually 
fall to the lot of boys of his class and 
he had abused them all. He was not 
inherently bad> but idle and feckless. 
He hated the constraint and discipline of 
lessons and study. Twice his father had 
sent him to decent schools in the country in 
the hope of weaning him from his growing 
love of the loose life of the streets. From 
the first school he had been expelled, after 
only a few weeks' sojourn, on the score of 
gross and incorrigible insubordination. From 
the second school, which was in sterner hands, 
he had run away ; had come climbing into 
the house by way of a back window in the 
dead of night and stolen softly to his bedroom, 
where he was discovered next morning* Nor 
could his father, either by force or persuasion, 
induce him to return to the school. In vain 
he stormed and wheedled, threatened and 
pleaded The bay listened, scowling, in 
stubborn silence. And the old man, his 
will sapped by self-indulgence, his parental 
authority undermined by the example of his 
own disreputable life, had been forced to 
give up the struggle from sheer weariness of 
spirit So it came about that young Lance 

"aPTffBffl" *' 




Mounsey got into the habit of loafing away 
his days, and was fast by way of becoming 
an idle wastrel. 

But to-night the old man, instead of chid- 
ing the boy as he had intended, merely com- 
manded him straightway to bed. 

It was some days later that he surprised 
Lance at the breakfast- table by once more 
broaching to him the subject of his educa- 

"To-morrow," said he, speaking abruptly 
after a lengthy silence between them, "your 
old master is coming to take you back to 
school again, I have given him explicit 
instructions to keep you well under watch 
and ward this time. I have told him — — ,J 
The boy mumbled unintelligibly, ** Not 
a word!" his father exclaimed. "You 
go. I have been weak. But I am deter- 
mined now. You go. Once for all, under- 
stand that And if you attempt to escape 
again, or if you ?) 

" I sha'rCi go," said the boy. 

But on the morrow a stern faced man 
stalked into the shop and claimed Lance 
with such an air of implacable resolution 
that the boy was cowed at last. 

" I shall not go," said he, nevertheless. 

His old schoolmaster, having had his 
instructions, did not deign to argue or 
coax. He went to the door of the shop 
and beckoned. Two stalwart young men 
came in answer to the summons and laid 
strong hands on 

" Don't hurt 
him ! " cried the 
father, whilst the 
boy kicked and 
struggled in a 
puny fury of 

" Mr, Moun- 
sey," said the 
"pray remember 
our compact. 
The boy comes 
to me to be 
dealt with as I 
see fit, or he does 
not come at all 
I must have the 
absolute discre- 
tion you pro- 
mised me.' 

"Yes- yes, I 
know. Quite 
right," stam- 

mered the father. " But — he is my only 

Lance, finding his struggles unavailing, 
was suddenly still. The flash of anger died 
from his face* But he glared at his father 
fiercely and bared his teeth in a defiant 

" They'll not keep me," he muttered, lt I'll 
run away as I did before. You see if I 

The father's face twitched painfully. He 
approached his son. 

u Lance," said he, gently, " it is for your 
own good I am sending you away, You 
have brought it on yourself. You must 
learn — if you are to make your way 
in the world." His voice grew unsteady. 
"Good-bye, my son. Obey this gentleman 
and he will be kind to you. You will, of 
course, not be unnecessarily harsh," he 
added, turning an imploring face to the 

"You know my methods," was the curt 
reply. " I alter them in favour of none of 
my charges. You have put rfie boy in my 
hands- I will take him under certain con- 
ditions, which you know as well as I do. If 
you have altered your mind— — 7 ' 

"No, no!" wailed the unhappy father. 
" But take him away, please, at once. I canV 
bear to see him so roughly handled* Won t 
you say good-bye to me, Lance ? " 

" No," snarled the boy, " I Imte you ! " 

by Google 





He went away, and the father was left 
alone. He would have realized his loneli- 
ness the more acutely, perhaps, but the two 
days that followed the boy's departure were 
unusually busy ones for him. The idea 
which the small conflagration in the shop 
had suggested to him was full-grown now 
and had become a set purpose. He made 
his preparations diligently. First, he bought 
some gallons of paraffin oil — not from the 
shop at the corner, however; that would 
have been too transparent. No ; he traveled 
afar late at night, and came slinking back 
under cover of the dark with his heavy cans. 
He poured the oil on the wooden stairs ; 
soaked some scores of the books in it ; 
dashed it on dusty curtains, on bedclothes 
and hangings ; made libations with it on the 
bare flooring, and covered the puddles with 
a loose litter of newspapers and magazines. 
In the repairing of old books he was wont to 
use a kind of coarse muslin. He had a large 
stock of this flimsy stuff in the house, tightly 
rolled on pieces of board. He draped the 
walls with yards on yards of this muslin, 
laid trails of it from parlour to attic, 
winding it about the banisters, stretch- 
ing it in loosely-twisted coils from one 
piece of furniture to another. All day 
he toiled in the empty, resounding house, 
exploring disused rooms that he had well- 
nigh forgotten the existence of. And at the 
end of the second day the fell work was 

He surveyed his elaborate arrangements 
and was satisfied. His plans seemed to him 
masterly in their completeness. He had 
got the boy out of the way into a place of 
safety. The fire, once started, would spread 
with immitigable rapidity in that old, dry, 
worm-eaten dwelling ; long before the engines 
could possibly arrive all the evidences of his 
crime would be effectually destroyed. There 
was nobody to pry on his proceedings, 
nobody to suspect his integrity. He had 
been insured many years ; he owed no large 
sums in the neighbourhood. Nobody but 
himself had even an inkling that he stood 
on the brink of ruin — nobody need ever 
know that circumstance now. But the 
thing that pleased him most, by reason of its 
consummate cleverness, was a cunning piece 
of acting performed by him that day. 

A neighbour had called with a small 

"Smell o' paraffin !" exclaimed the neigh- 
bour, sniffing. 

Old Mounsey leered across the counter, 

igitized by Google 

Vol xxiv.-2 

swaying to and fro. " Just upset a lamp- 
filling it," said he. 

" Catch the house a-fire one o' these days," 
the neighbour warned him. 

" Not me," old Mounsey hiccoughed. 

" Drunken beast ! " the neighbour re- 
marked, quite audibly, as he quitted the 

Old Mounsey chuckled. 

But he was not chuckling as he descended 
the stairs in the small hours of the following 
morning. His face was pallid and damp ; his 
limbs quaked. He stood among his books 
in the dark shop, listening eagerly to a distant, 
faint crackle that sounded from above. He 
had doffed his clothes, wore only slippers and 
a pair of trousers in addition to his nightshirt. 
But he dared not stir yet from the place, 
ardently as he longed to escape from the 
growing peril overhead. He must wait until 
the fire got a firm hold on the timbers. To 
raise the alarm too soon would be to bring 
the neighbours rushing in ; his infamy would 
be at once discovered. 

It was eerie work, though, to cower and 
shiver in that darkened shop, knowing what 
he did of what was happening upstairs. He 
had seen the little blue flames running jerkily 
hither and thither ; had heard the dull, 
muffled report of the wind-touched blaze that 
had sprung up near the landing-window as 
he came hurrying down. He listened, and 
was so deadly afraid he could hardly keep 
his balance. 

Outside, a wayfarer passed with erratic 
tread — some roysterer who hummed a merry 
tune on his homeward way. Was any glare 
yet visible in the street? He could overhear 
the pumping of his own heart's blood. The 
fevered thoughts rioting in his brain seemed 
almost articulate. Something fell on the 
floor above with a loud clatter. There was 
a slow, rending sound — the ante room door 
had slipped from its rusty hinges; he had 
reckoned they would not long withstand the 
heat. Dared he raise the alarm yet ? 

On the glass panels of the parlour-door a 
tremulous, rosy gleam was playing now. 
That was caused by the draught from the 
yard as it fanned the smouldering muslin on 
the kitchen stair-rail. 

Crack ! Crack ! Crack ! 

The fire was kindling apace. 

All his impulse was to escape pell-mell 
into the street. But he must not yield to 
panic. He must wait a little longer. He 
put an iron hand of restraint upon himself. 

His thoughts ticked fast. 

Now it seemed to him that his elaborate 




preparations were but clumsy devices after 
alL What if the fire presently died out 
altogether? What if they found that rotten 
woodwork still soused in oil and dripping 
wet, untouched by the blaze ? — the muslin, 
too, so ingeniously draped and entwined, 
with never so much as a scorch upon it? 
He called to mind one hasty tangle that he 
had woven between the cellar and the 
scullery— the scullery had a stone floor— 
they would find him out. He wiped his 
forehead with a cold, clammy hand, 

A sudden fierce roar rent the purring 
silence. A broad, pale flare lit up the shop, 
burst, and a hundred living tongues of flame 
went dancing across the floor, writhing up the 
walls to the ceiling. 

He shrieked, fumbled at the door-fasten- 
ings, and fled into the street. 

At the opening of the door a gust of cold, 
brisk air streamed in, fanning the fire to fury. 




A cloud of smoke, riddled with sparks and 
thickly shot with flickering forks of flame, 
billowed out behind him into the street — 
a street so dark, after the da^le of light 
within, that old Mounsey feit as if he had 
been smitten blind* He tottered forward, 
tripped on the kerb, and rolled into the 
road, There, for a moment, he lay half- 
stunned, sprawling on the damp earth. 

He rose, trembling, mechanically brushed 
the dirt from his hands, and staggered to the 
opposite pavement. Then he turned and 
surveyed the red ruin he had wrought. 

There was little display of fire as yet ; but 
black, rolling columns went pouring up, and 
all the windows showed as caverns filled 
with a hollow, fluctuating flare. He stood 
as one transfixed, unable to stir, listening to 
the roar of the flames and the crackling of the 
blazing beams. His wide eyes pringled and 
watered in the driving reek* 

Slowly he grew conscious of a gathering 
tumult in the street 

Windows were pushed up with rude 
violence. There was a continuous 
drawing of bolts, a flinging 
open of doors* He heard 
many voices mingled in 
startled inquiry. Children 
whimpered, and their 
mothers soothed them in 
low, crooning tones. 

Someone clutched the 
old man's elbow, and he 
saw that he was surrounded 
by an eager, questioning 
crowd. But the confusion 
of tongues was so great he 
could not make out what 
was said to him. He 
cowered before the rabble 
in vague affright. 

u l'oor old man !" said a 

After that it seemed to 
him that but another mo- 
ment passed^ and then in 
an instant the street was 
thickly thronged* He was 
bandied about from hand 
to hand, his thoughts spin- 
ning wildly as the thoughts 
of one in delirium. At last 
lie found refuge on a door- 
step, where he sank down, 
gasping and panting, his 
cheek against some cold 
iron railings. 

A man with a rumpled 
Original from 



head came out and offered him a glass of 
water. But even as he stretched forth 
his hand to take it he was suddenly 
aware of a swift change in the spirit of the 

Hitherto the general feeling had been one 
of mere vulgar delight in a sensational 
spectacle. That feeling was now swept 
away by the inrush of a new mood — 
a mood so poignantly acute with emotion 
he could not but share in its intensity, 
stunned as his faculties were. He strove 
dully to understand the mystery of this 
change. He gazed about, looked haggardly 
from face to face, tried to catch what the 
people were saying. He saw no sign of 
menace, such as he dreaded to see, in any 
of the countenances turned toward him, but 
only an expression of pitying horror. Clamant 
voices, that had lately been raised in un- 
meaning shouts, were abruptly subdued to a 
low, inarticulate murmur. 

He wrung his hands in a frenzy of name- 
less fear, rose to his feet, looking up. 

And as he looked up a deeper hush fell 
on the watching multitude. Shuddering 
women, with averted eyes, wailed in chorus 
piteously, and that was the only human 
sound. But before that infinitely plaintive 
outcry the dull, triumphant roaring of the 
fire seemed suddenly to tremble and wane, 
even as the darkness trembles before a 
kindling light. 

In the midst of them all the incendiary, 
every vestige of life and colour drained 
from his staring face, stood motionless and 

His eyes were fixed on an upper window. 
There, blackly outlined against a leaping red 
glare, the figure of his son was revealed. 
Faithful to his threat, the wilful boy had 
broken bounds and returned home, as on 
that former occasion ; he had got into the 
house by way of the back-yard and gone 
straightway to his own room to sleep, worn 
out by the rigours of his arduous flight. 
This was his awakening. He was leaning 
over the sill with arms passionately out- 
stretched. His face worked, his lips were 
moving, but terror had struck him dumb. 
At last, by a supreme effort, he wrung out a 
cry of " Father ! " that soared up, clear and 
shrill, above all other sounds. 

The cry seemed to snap the spell that 
bound the old man's senses. He woke from 
his stupor of horror. He thrust through the 
thin fringe of gazers that stood between him 
and the burning house. They tried to hold 
him back, but he broke from their clutches 

Digitized by L* OOg I C 

and plunged headlong into the smoke. The 
open door of the shop engulfed him. 

Within the shop the heat at once began to 
sear his flesh, the noisome fumes to choke 
and blind him. But the wind from without 
was blowing the flames back, and the flooring, 
though it was so hot it blistered his feet 
through his thin slippers, still held firmly 
together. Through the haze he could see, 
by the fitful light beyond, the open frame- 
work of a door that led to the rooms above. 
He bore toward it, quivering as the drifting 
sparks flayed his face and hands, shutting 
tight his lips to keep out the oily vapour that 
stung his nostrils and eye-lids. He turned 
at the door, groped through the confined 
blackness of the narrow hall, and came to the 
foot of the stairway. The muslin he had 
draped about the banisters was all shrivelled 
to filmy shreds ; many of the upright spars 
were reduced to a winking red char. But 
here and there one stood intact upholding 
the handrail still. The stairs themselves, 
however, were but a glowing rottenness of 
cindered wood. He set his foot upon the 
bottom step and it crumbled, bringing down 
the whole flight in a golden rain of fire. A 
gaping chasm yawned before him, an abysmal 
gulf belching forth dust and smoke. That 
way was impassable. But he might yet reach 
the yard by way of the parlour. He remem- 
bered that there were level leads above the 
outhouses, just beneath the sills of the 
upper windows. He groped through the 
fire-lit fog into the stone-paved scullery. 
The clothes dropped in tinder from his 
limbs; his fingers were pared of skin to 
the very bone ; his singed hair blistered his 
scalp. The dry heat scorched his tortured 
flesh and cracked his lips. The smoke and 
dust filled his parched throat so that he could 
scarcely breathe. Falling beams broke in a 
dust of red embers on his devoted head. Once 
he fell headlong over a rafter underfoot 
and came down heavily, cutting his naked 
shoulder against a jagged door-jamb. But 
he did win to the open yard at last, blackened 
and bruised and bleeding, his eye-balls prick- 
ing in his head, his senses almost gone. He 
drew in a sweet draught of air — sweet after 
the atmosphere of the house, despite the soot- 
motes and the sparks with which it was heavy- 
laden. There was a crazy ladder at the 
bottom of the yard. He found it, though all 
things had grown dim to his smarting, in- 
flamed vision, and propped it clumsily against 
the outer wall of the scullery. It began to slip 
the moment he set foot upon it. But so swiftly 
did he swarm up its loose rungs that, though 




it slanted sideways as he mounted, lie was on 
the leads before it finally foil crashing into 
the yard. The window was open ; but he 
narrowly escaped following the ladder before 
he lighted on it, so dense was the mantle of 
smoke that wrapped the walls about 

" Lance, Tin coming!" he tried to call 
out; bnt could utter no sound. 

A monstrous, curling flower of flame stilt 
intervened between him and the bedroom. 
He covered his face with his lorn hands 
and passed through the very heart of it. He 
blessed the heat that had stripped the scanty 
garments from his limbs ■ the fire might 
scorch and blister his naked flesh, but it 
could not cling about and follow him as 
it would have done had he been fully 

The door of the bedroom was shut. He 
burst it open, Within, the smoke was dense 
and pungent, but there was little fire— only 
one blazing hollow near 
the wall where a rafter 
had given way. Again 
he endeavoured to call 
out ; in vain. His strength 
was well-nigh spent, He 
sank slowly 
on his hands 
and knees and 
fumbled his 
way across the 
room toward 
the square of 
paler gloom 
that marked 
where the win- 
prostrate on 
the floor, he 
found his son. 

Dizzily he crooked one arm over the 
sill and so raised the body up, It stirred 
feebly against his bare breast. His heart 
throbbed. New vigour came to him. Twice 
he nearly gained his feet, and twice he 
failed and fell back again. At the third 
attempt he was successful. But his brain 
was swimming, Sight and sense alike were 
almost gone. 

Into the mist of his clogged brain a faint, 
glad sound was borne. His dying eyes, 
looking up, caught a filmy glimpse of a shin- 
ing helmet. He thought it was the helmet 
of an angel of the Lord. Two strong hands 
reached down from Heaven and caught up 
his precious burden into safety. But no dull 
echo of the cheer that arose from the crowd 
below, as the fireman descended the ladder 
with the still living form of the boy, was ever 
fated to sound in the ears of the dead father. 
He fell with the roof upon him, and was 

buried in the 
fiery ruins. 

They raised 
a carved white 
stone to his 
memory. But 
perhaps the 
walls of the 
house, within 
which they 
fou n d his 
body, were a 
fitter memo- 
rial to the 
manner of his 
death than 
all the splen- 
dours of his 
marble tomb. 


KfiD ONE ARM 0VEK TkirtQUlf 3 I f TO N) 


Seaside Pictures. 


|E will commence this article, which 
is designed to set before the reader 
a remarkable collection of quaint 
and curious seaside pictures, with 
one which can only by a kind of 
"bull " be called a seaside picture at all, as 
it was, in fact, taken on the shore of a lake, 
"This idea was conceived," says Mr. H. C 
Brewer, Clinton, Out,, Canada, "and the 
photograph taken by my son Hugh, aged 
thirteen years old, on the beach at Hay field, 
a summer resort on the shore of Like Huron, 
Ontario, Canada, ten miles from the town of 
Clinton, where we reside. The picture shows 
his sUter buried up to her neck in sand. 5 ' 

It is frequently a matter of wonder as to 
where all the visitors to fashionable watering. 



places find accommodation during 
the season. It is evident from our 
next photo., sent to us by Mr 
R. S. Archer, Cmigleith, Low wood 
Road, Birkenhead, that the diffi- 
culty is solved at Llandudno by 
utilizing the bathing-machines, the 
one in question being " for 85 

This crab was found upon the 
beach at Seabrook, Hythe, and 
shows upon its back a very good 
representation of the human face. 
The features are not only outlined 
upon the crab's shell, but the nose 1 
and lips stand out, while the mouth 

A CRABBHU liX>-KE*5l<>N. 


and eyes are indented fairly deeply. 
The crab was only pinned upon a 
board in the same position in which 
it died, and has not been posed in any 
way* One lady friend of the contributor 
declares it is a woman's face, and cer- 
tainly the position of one claw does 
suggest the setting right of a refractory 
hairpin. The shell is of pale pink 
colour, and the indentations are lined 
in white, which gives a more natural 
appearance in the actual thing than 
the photograph suggests. The photo, 
is by Mr, W. W. Guenee, of Scabrook, 
and was contributed by Mr. J. E. 





The two photographs here reproduced were 
taken by a friend of the gentlemen portrayed. 
After the first photo, had been taken he 
perceived a big wave approaching and imme- 
diately asked them to wait while he took 
another. At the critical moment he released 
the shutter, and the result of his little joke is 
here strikingly shown. The sender, who 
prefers to be known only by initials, is 
H. J, B., "Glenville," Uengariff Road, Sea 
Point* Cape Town. 

At two o'clock on the morning of April 
i6th, during a strong gale and thick weather, 
a steamer stranded on the coast of the Sea 
of Marmora. Her captain naturally wished to 
communicate with 
the shore in order to 
send for assistance, 
but owing to the 
darkness and the 
heavy seas it was 
considered unsafe 
to attempt doing so 
by boat. At day- 
break, however, 
what was the aston- 
ishment of the crew 
to discover that 
they were right 
alongside the end 
of a small wooden 
jeLty which the 
vessel in stranding 
had actually 
touched, but not 
damaged in the 
slightest. A rope 

ladder was promptly lowered, and one of 
the officers was sent on shore to the nearest 
village to wire to the vessel's agent at Con- 
stantinople. Salvage steamers soon arrived, 
and the vessel was refloated on the following 
day, after 400 tons of cargo had been thrown 
overboard. Her position was now very 
serious, and there was great danger of her 
becoming a total wreck owing to the waves 
causing her to bump heavily on the stony 
bottom. But even if that had occurred, the 
crew r would have found no difficulty in saving 
their lives and property by means of the jetty 
alongside of which their vessel had stranded* 
The steamer was the Mandtrs^ of Antwerp, 
bound from I brail for Salonica. 






Our next photograph depicts an extremely 
novel method of carving, and speaks volumes 
for the patience and skill of 
the operator. The writing 
is executed in relief, each 
line and letter being beauti- 
fully legible, in spite of the 
fact that it is over half a 
century old and that the 
shell was for some years a 
plaything in our contributor's 
family. It is the work of an 
Italian cameo-cutter, a pro- 
fession by no means over- 
crowded, on account of the 
high order of precision and 
artistic taste necessary in 
such a calling* This photo- 
graph was sent by Mrs. 
Williams, Honor Oak 
Park, S.E. 

The accompanying photograph illustrates 
two remarkable shipwrecks on the Pad fie 

Ocean beach below the celebrated Cliff 
House and Seal Rocks, near the entrance to 
the Golden Gate of San Francisco's great 
harbour. Almost a quarter of a century ago 
the big barque King Philip was driven ashore 
in a storm, and beached far above the waves 
by an unusually high tide. She had sailed 
from her last port on a Friday, the sailors' 
hoodoo day, and had been completely 
wrecked on a Friday. More than twenty-four 
years later the schooner Ptpprfcr, plying 
between the same ports as the King Philip 
had been doing, and also engaged in the 
lumber trade, sailed from her last port on a 
Friday, and was completely wrecked on 
March 13th, to complete the ill-omened 
combination of sailors' superstitions. For 
weeks she lay with a broken back, a helpless 
thing, more than a hundred yards out in the 
combing breakers. Then, one night, she 
mysteriously rose on some mighty swell, and 

A nUAWlSti IN SAM), 


zed by CjOOgle 

came in and settled precisely within the ribs 
of the King Philip, bow within bow and stern 
within stern, as nicely as 
though men and machinery 
had placed her there within 
the wonderful coffin, — Sent 
by Mr* Archie Rice, San 

The above photograph, 
for which we have to thank 
Mr. A. Brandon, Red fields, 
Winchfield, Hants, is of a 
drawing in the sand, exe- 
cuted by a poor cripple with 
a knife curved like a scythe. 
He stated that it took him 

about an hour and a quarter 
On gin a Ft ram 




to finish. The inscriptions run thus : l( Kindly 
Help a Poor Cripple (all my own work)," 
and underneath the pots of flowers, "Three 
Pots a Shilling," and beneath the castle, 
" Hawarden Castle, Home of the late W. E, 

Mere is a necklace consisting of forty- 
one stones, graduated 
according to their size and 
threaded on a cord. As, 
however, it weighs 7 lb., it 
is hardly convenient as a 
lady's adornment* The 
stones are very curious, 
owing to the fact that the 
perforations through them 
have been caused by the 
action of the sea and the 
contact with sand and 
sharp pieces of flint. It 
might seem that picking 
up so many of these 
natural beads on the beach 
was like looking for a 
blacksmith's shop in Venice, 
yet they were gathered in- 
side of two hours on the 
shore at Hastings, No 
doubt our readers who set 
themselves the task will be 
as successful as the gentle- 
man who sends us the 
photograph, Mr. V. FL Woolrich, Pittsburg, 
Pa., U,S,A. 

The article in a recent number of Thi£ 
Strand on lt Sailing on Land " has called 
to mind an amusement which was once 
common in South port, viz, : sand yachting. 
The local name of the South port sail- 
carriages was <£ Flying Dutchmen," and they 

A ratfBLfc Nt£CKLACE+ 

might be described as fishing-boats with flat 
bottoms, mounted on four wheels. The 
accompanying illustrations will show what 
they looked like. In the first there is a view 
of a Flying Dutchman with sails furled, and 
in the second the sails are spread ready for a 
run. Photographs of a Flying Dutchman are 
extremely rare, and even among men who 
owned these boats there is 
scarcely one to be found. 
With a fine stretch of sand 
in front of the Promenade, 
South port was an ideal 
place for the use of these 
boats, though it was never 
professed that they were 
capable of anything like 
the speed mentioned in the 
article in The Strand, 
True, they possessed a 
much greater sail area 
than the Californian boat l 
but it was not considered 
advisable to run much more 
than a mile in one direc- 
tion, and so the speed which 
they might have attained on 
a long run was never tested. 
Usually they would go at 
the rate of eight miles an 
hour, and the trip was ex- 
hilarating enough for the 
ordinary passenger even at 
that speed, especially when, with a dexterous 
turn of the rudder and a shifting of the sails, 
the boat was instantly put about and the 
return journey was commenced* There w is 
method in these short runs, for the charge 
was similar to that of a donkey ride three- 
pence—and on a breezy day the owner would 
make a very good day's wage for himself and 
his assistant. Harry Furniss, in his famous 

Digitized by C.^Cf0^lS 

Dutchmen" of souTtdSkfTg \ n a | f ro ITl 




Tttii U Intended tu be T'lruwn irwfcu*^ 1 *1 ■•*« 
tliat whi'ii fonn4 it *Ui wf^c ta 1*4* * . • 
.the dinctlpi, Qf*ft«h 


Lorn} i Lu n 

ring frmn>*fi jjfi£.*jZS&/ r S 

. The ilwfc-** should be filled i 1 nrltJb n I, -luck leajl : 
bfiffo&e ink ii so soon de*t?cved \i 1 

TLe lx>itl* mrjkkh it is placed slioul-3 !■ -■ n.r iy 

il in 

.1^.- 1 op ii 

« (no ni«iM| 

4P <#f tlit* M.Uti cLufLi b* ■ 


picture ot bourhport sands, published in 
Punch in October, 1891, showed, among other 
things peculiar to Sotithport, a couple of Klying 
Dutchmen careering along before a strong 
wind* So strong, in fact, was the wind that 
several of the passengers were being blown 
bodily into space, and where they would land 
was quite problematical* Just at that time 
the Flying Dutchmen were falling rapidly 
into disuse. The first marine lake had been 
constructed, and this racher 
limited the area over which 
they could perform their 
evolutions, A year or two 
latex the second marine lake 
absorbed another slice of the 
playground, and finally, when 
the two lakes were joined and 
the marine drive was con- 
structed, the doom of the 
Flying Dutchmen was sealed. 
For several years the body of 
one of the old boa Is was to 
be seen within the marine 
drive enclosure close by the 
pier, hut it has now vanished 
and the place thereof knows 

Vol xxiv,— 29. 

it no more, nor will do, unless some indi- 
vidual of a speculative turn of mind and a 
desire to preserve some of the local colour- 
ing sees fit to construct other boats on the 
same lines. There is no reason why this 
should not be made a profitable investment, 
seeing that with past experience as a guide a 
comfortable, safe, and speedy boat could be 
planned. It is not a little curious that South- 
port's lost carriage should turn up again in 
far-away California, where it is being put to 
practical use, and where its designers are able 
to get such a " good run for their money." 
So writes Mr. J. S, Diekin, of Southport. 

The form here reproduced, it will he 
observed, was thrown overboard from the 
P. and O. steamship Victoria^ on July 30th, 
t8<j6, between St. Helena and Ascension 
I sbnri. The following report was issued at the 
Sydney Observatory on March 24th, i&9y: 
n This paper was found in Mexico and sent 
by the Mexican Consul at Caheston, Texas, 
to Sir Julian Pauncefote, British Represen- 
tative ; by him it was sent to the Marquis of 
Salisbury, K.G + , and by him to the (i over nor 
of N.S.W, ; he sent it to Mr, Brunkcr, Chief 
Secretary, and he sent it on to the Premier ; 
thence it went to the Minister for Public 
Instruction, and thence to me. It was found 
in the Laguna Mad re, State of Tamaulipas, 
Mexico, date not given,- (Signed) H. C. 
RusselL" It is estimated that up lo the time 
it was found it had travelled about 6,300 
miles in 850 days. 

Our last photo, represents the humorous 
aspect of the subject of this article* It 
depicts cave-dwellers {Troglodytes Gregorii) 
recently "shot" on the coast of Wales, as 
Mr, F. Gregory Jones, 5, Waterford Road, 
Oxton, Cheshire, informs us. 



Original from 




thing with 
when he 

HK others were "kept in," 
Only Robert was allowed to 
go out 4i to get something/' 
This, of course, was a wish 
fro in the band-fairy. There 
was no time to arrange any- 
the others hefore he weirt, and 
had found the fairy he found afso 
that he had no ideas. So at last he said : — ■ 
" Look here, can't you let the others have 
a wish without their coming here for it? 
Just make it come true, whatever they wish 
in the bouse." 

The psammead said **Ycs." And Robert 
tore home, full of sudden ansiousness. 
Because, of course, the others wouldn't 
know, and they would very likely say i( I 
wish it was dinner time," or ** I wish you 
wouldn't fidget so," without knowing that it 
would come true, and then a whole day's 
wish would be wasted 

He ran as fast as he could, but when he 
turned the corner that ought to have brought 
him within sight of the ornamental ironwork 
on the top of the house he stopped short- 
There mas no house, the garden railings were 
gone, and* yes -the others had wished — 
without any doubt they had. And they must 
have wished that they lived in a castle. For 



there the castle stood, black and stately and 
very tall and broad, with battlements and 
shot windows and eight great towers, and 
where the garden and the orchard had been 
there were white things dotted. 

Robert walked slowly on, and as he got 
nearer he saw that these were tents and men 
in armour were walking about among the 
tents — crowds and crowds of them. 

" Oh, crikey ! " said Robert, fervently. 
11 They have! They've wished for a castle 
and it's being besieged ! It's just like that 
sand -fairy. I wish we'd never seen the beastly 
thing r 

Two men in steel caps were coming to 
wards him. They had high brown boots on 
their km^ le^s, and they came towards him 
with such great strides that Robert remem- 
bered the shortness of his own legs and did 
not run away, He knew it would be useless 
to himself, and he feared it might be irritat- 
ing to the foe. So he stood quite still, ami 
the two men seemed quite pleased with him. 

"By my halidome," said on^ u a brave 
varlet this,** 

Robert felt pleased at being cai/ed brave, 

and somehow it made him feci brave. He 

passed over the "varlet." It was the way 

people talked in historical romances for the 

Original from 




young, he knew, and it was evidently not 
meant for rudeness. He only hoped he 
would be able to understand what they said 
to him. • He had not been always able to 
quite follow the conversations in the historical 
romances for the young. 

" His garb is strange," said the other. 
"Some outlandish treachery, belike." 

" Say, lad, what brings thee hither ? " 

Robert knew this meant, "Now, then, 
youngster, what are you up to here, eh ? " so 
he said : — 

"If you please, I want to go home." 

11 Go, then ! " said the man in the longest 
boots ; " none hindereth and naught lets us 
to follow. Zooks," he added, in a cautious 
undertone, " I misdoubt me but he beareth 
tidings to the besieged." 

" Where is thy home, young knave ? " 
inquired the man with the largest steel cap. 

41 Over there," said Robert, and directly he 
had said it he knew he ought to have 
said "Yonder!" 

" Ha ! sayest so," rejoined the longest 
boots ; " come hither, boy. This is 
matter for our leader." 

And to the leader Robert was 
dragged forthwith — by the reluctant 

The leader was the most glorious 
creature Robert had ever seen. He 
had armour, and a helmet, and a 
horse, and a crest and feathers, and 
a shield, and a lance, and a sword. 
His armour and his weapons were 
all, I am almost sure, of quite different 
periods. The leader was exactly like 
the pictures Robert had so often 
admired in the historical romances. 
The shield was thirteenth cen- 
tury, while the sword was of the 
pattern used in the Peninsular 
War ; the cuirass was of the 
time of Charles I., and the 
helmet dated from the Second 
Crusade. The arms on the 
shield were very grand — three 
red running lions on a blue 
ground— the tents were of the 
latest brand approved by the 
War Office, and the whole appearance of the 
camp, army and leader, might have been a 
shock to some. But Robert was dumb 
with admiration, and it all seemed to 
him perfectly correct, because he knew no 
more of heraldry or archaeology than the 
gifted artists who drew the pictures 
the historical romances. The scene 
indeed "exactly like a picture." He 

mired it all so much that he felt braver than 

"Come hither, lad," said the glorious 
leader, when the men in Cromwellian steel 
caps had said a few low, eager words. And 
he took off his helmet, because he could not 
see properly with it on. He had a kind face 
and long, fair hair. " Have no fear — thou 
shalt take no scathe." 

Robert was glad of that. He wondered 
what scathe was, and if it was nastier than the 
senna-tea which he had to take sometimes. 

" Unfold thy tale without alarm," said the 
leader, kindly ; " whence comest thou, and 
what is thine intent?" 

" My what ? " said Robert. 






seekest thou 
to accom- 
plish ? What 
is thine 
errand, that 
< thou wan- 

derest here 
alone among these rough men - at - arms ? 
Poor child, thy mother's heart aches for thee 
e'en now, I'll warrant me." 

He wiped away a manly tear, exactly as a 
leader in an historical romance would have 
done, and said : — 

" Fear not to speak the truth, my child ; 
thou hast naught to fear from Wulfric de 

Original from 




Robert had a w ild feeling that this glorious 
lender of the besieging party, being himself 
part of a wish, would be able to understand 
better than Martha, or the gipsies, or the 
policeman in Rochester, or the clergyman of 

yesterday, the 
true tale of the 
wishes and the 

one of the men-at-arms, looking at Robert, 
who went on as if he had not heard, 

11 And then we wished for money treasure, 
you know— but we couldn't spend it. And 
yesterday we wished for wings and we got 
them, and we had a ripping time to beg»n 
with " 

1 Thy speech is strange and uncouth," said 
Sir Wulfrk de Talbot. M Repeat thy words 
—what hadst thou?" 

(t A ripping— 1 mean a jolly -no— we were 
contented with our lot, that's what I mean, 
only after that we got into ;in awful fix." 

HE lVirt]> A WAV A MAMA 7ILAK r 

psammead. The only difficulty was that he 
knew he could never remember enough 
"quothas" and u bushrew mes " and things 
like that to make his talk sound like the talk 
of a boy in an historical romance. However, 
he began boldly enough with a sentence 
straight out of "Ralph de Courey ; or, '["he 
Boy Crusader." He said : - 

*' Gramercy for thy courtesy, fair Sir 
Knight ; the fact is, it's like this, and I hope 
you're not in a hurry, because the story's 
rather a breather. Father and mother are 
away, and when we were down playing in the 
sand-pits we found a psammead*" 

"I cry thee mercy ! A sammyadd?" said 
the Knight 

"Yes— a sort of— of fairy, or enchanter — 
yes, that's it, an enchanter, and he said we 
could have a wish every day, and we wished 
to be beautiful" 

" Thy wish was scarce granted,' 3 muttered 

by Google 

" What is a fix ? A fray, mayhap? " 
" No, not a fray. A a a tight place >J 
u A dungeon? Alas! for thy youthful 
fetlered limbs/' said the Knight, politely. 

IL It wasn't a dungeon. We just en- 
countered undeserved misfortunes," Robert 
e x pi a i n ed > ( ' To- day we are pu n i sh ed by n ot 
being allowed to go out "That's where I 
live" — he pointed to the castle — ** the others 
are in there, and they're not allowed to go 
out. It's all the psammead s I mean the 
enchanter's —fan It. I wish we'd never seen 

"He is an enchanter of might ? r 
*' Oh, yes of might and main ! " 
"And thou deemest that it is the spells of 
the enchanter whom thou hast angered that 
have lent strength to the besieging party/' 
said the gallant leader; " but know thou that 
Wulfrie de Talbot needs no enchanter's aid 
to lead his followers to victory*." 

Original from 




" No, I am sure you don't, 7 ' said Robert, 
with hasty courtesy ; " but all the same it's 
partly his fault, but we're roost to blame. 
You couldn't have done anything if it hadn't 
been for us." 

" How now, bold boy?" said Sir Wulfric, 
haughtily ; " thy speech is dark and scarce 
courteous. Unravel me this riddle." 

" Oh, " said Robert, desperately, " of 
course you don't know it, but you're not real 
at all. You're only here because the others 
must have been idiots enough to wish for a 
castle, and when the sun sets you'll just 
vanish away and it'll be all right." 

The captain and the men-at-arms exchanged 
glances — at first pitying, and then sterner as 
the longest-booted man said : — 

" Beware, noble my lord ; the urchin but 
feigns madness to escape from our clutches. 
Shall we not bind him ? '' 

" I'm no more mad than you are," said 
Robert, angrily ; " only I was an idiot to 
think you'd understand anything. Let me 
go — I haven't dene anything to you." 

" Whither ? n asked the Knight, who 
seemed to have believed all the enchanter's 
story till it came to bis own share in it. 
" Whither wouldst thou wend ? " 

** Home, of course." Robert pointed to 
the castle. 

" To carry news of succour ? Nay." 

" All right, then," said Robert, struck by a 
sudden idea, " Then let me go somewhere 
else." His mind sought eagerly among the 
memories of the historical romance. 

" Sir Wulfric de Talbot," he said, slowly, 
"should think foul scorn to— to keep a 
chap — I mean one who has done him no 
hurt — when he wants to cut off quietly— I 
mean to depart without violence." 

" This to my face ? Beshrew thee for a 
knave ! " replied Sir Wulfric. Yet the appeal 
seemed to 
have gone 
home " But 
thou sayest 
1 o o t h . Go 
where thou 
wilt," he added, 
nobly, " thou 
art free. Wulf- 
ric de Talbot 
warreth not 
with babes. 
A nd J a ki n 
here shall bear 
thee com- 

"All right," 

said Robert, wildly. " Jakin will enjoy him- 
self, I think. Come on, Jakin. Sir Wulfric, 
I salute thee." 

He saluted after the modern military 
manner, and set off running to the sand- 
pit, Jakin's long boots keeping up easily. 
He found the fairy. He dug it up, he 
woke it up. He implored it to give him one 
more wish. 

" I've done two today already," it grumbled, 
"and one was as stiff a bit of work as ever I 

"Oh, do, do, do, do, do!" said Robert, 
while Jakin looked on with an expression of 
open-mouthed horror at the strange beast 
that talked and gazed with snails' eyes at 

" Well, what is it?" snapped the psammead, 
with cross sleepiness. 

" I wish I was with the others," said 
Robert. And the psammead began to swell. 
Robert lost consciousness for an instant. 
When he opened his eyes the others were 
crowding round him in a dark room, with 
thick stone walls and no furniture. 

" We never heard you come in," they said. 
" How awfully jolly of you to wish it to give 
us our wish!" 

" Of course, we understood that was what 
you'd done." 

" But you ought to have told us. Suppose 
we'd wished something silly ? " 

said Robert, 
very crossly, 
indeed. " How 


>, DO, DO, DO!' sA!I» KOMKKT.' 

Original from 



much sillier could you have been, I'd like 
to know ? You nearly settled me, I can tell 

Then he told his story, and the others 
admitted that it certainly had been rough on 
him. And they praised his courage and 
cleverness so much that he presently got 
back his lost temper and felt braver than 
ever and consented to be captain of the 
besieged force. 

" We haven't done anything yet," said 
Anthea, comfortably; "we waited for you. 
We've collected a lot of daggers and stones 
and we're going to shoot at them through 
these little loopholes with the bow and arrows 
uncle gave you, and you shall have first shot." 

" I don't think I'd begin," said Robert, 
cautiously. " You don't know how real they 
are. They won't attack till sunset ; I heard 
Jakin say so. We can spend the day 
getting ready for the defence." 

They explored the castle thoroughly — 
and really the day passed very pleasantly. 
It was hard to believe that there could be 
real danger.- It was in the afternoon that 
they happened to be on the highest tower, 
whence they could see all round the castle, 
and could see, too, that beyond the moat 
on every side the tents of the besieging 
party were pitched. Rather uncomfortable 
shivers ran down the children's backs as they 
saw that all the men were very busy cleaning 
or sharpening their arms, restringing their 
bows, and polishing their shields. A large 
party came along the road with horses 
dragging along the great trunk of a tree, and 
Cyril felt quite pale because he knew this 
was for a battering-ram. 

" What a good thing we've got a moat," 
he said, "and what a good thing the draw- 
bridge is up ! I should never have known 
how to work it." 

" Of course it would be up in a besieged 

" You'd think there ought to have been 
soldiers in it, wouldn't you?" said Robert. 

" You see, you don't know how long it's 
been besieged," said Cyril, darkly. " Per- 
haps most of the brave defenders were killed 
quite early in the siege and all the provisions 
eaten, and now there are only a few intrepid 
survivors — that's us — and we are going to 
defend it to the death." 

" How do you begin ? Defending to the 
death, I mean ? " asked Anthea. 

" We ought to be heavily armed, and then 
shoot at them when they advance to the 
attack, and drop stones on them, and 


by Google 

" They used to pour boiling lead down on 
besiegers when they got too close," said 
Anthea. " Father showed me the holes on 
purpose for pouring it down through at 
Bodiam Castle. And there are holes like it 
in the gate-tower here." 

" I think I'm glad it's only a game. It is 
only a game, isn't it ? " said Jane. 

But no one had time to answer. 

For suddenly there came the loud, fierce 
cry of a trumpet. 

" You see it is real," said Robert, " and 
they are going to attack." 

All rushed down again to the little dark 
room over the gate-house and looked out of 
the windows. 

11 Yes," said Robert, " they're all coming 
out of their tents and moving about like ants. 
There's that Jakin dancing about where the 
bridge joins on. I wish he could see me 
put my tongue out at him ! Yah ! " 

The others were far too pale to wish to put 
their tongues out at anybody. They looked 
at Robert with surprised respect. Anthea 
said, " You really are brave, Robert." 

And again the trumpet sounded. 

"Rot!" Cyril's pallor turned to redness 
now, all in a minute. " He's been getting 
ready to be brave all the afternoon, and I 
wasn't ready, that's all. I shall be braver 
than he is in half a jiffy." 

A trumpeter came forward to the edge of 
the moat and blew the longest and loudest 
blast they had yet heard. When the blaring 
noise had died away a man who was with 
the trumpeter shouted : — 

"What ho, within there!" And his voice 
came plainly to the garrison in the gate- 

" Halloa, there!" Robert bellowed back at 

" In the name of our Lord the King, and 
of our good Lord and trusty leader, Sir 
Wulfric de Talbot, we summon this castle 
to surrender — on pain of fire and sword and 
no quarter. Do ye surrender ? " 

"No!" bawled Robert, " of course we 
don't ! Never, never, never ! " 

The man answered back : — 

" Then your fate be on your own heads." 

" Cheer," said Robert, in a fierce whisper ; 
"cheer to show them we aren't afraid, and rattle 
the daggers to make more noise. One, two, 
three ! Hip, hip, hooray ! Again, Hip, hip, 
hooray ! One more, Hip, hip, hooray ! " 
The cheers were rather high and weak, but 
the rattle of the daggers lent them strength 
and depth. 

And as the cheers died away Robert heard 

Original from 


2 3 l 

feet on the stairs outside— heavy feet and the 
dank of steeL No one breathed for a 
moment. The steel and the feet went on up 
the turret stairs. Then Robert sprang softly 
to the door. He pulled off his shoes 

"Wait here," he whispered, and 
stole quickly and softly after the boots 
and the spur clank. He peeped into 
the upper room. The man was there 
and it was Jakin, all dripping with 
moat-water, and he was 
fiddling about with the 
machinery which Robert 
felt sure worked the draw- 
bridge Robert banged 
the door suddenly and 
bolted it just as Jakin 
sprang to the inside of 
the door. Then he tore 
downstairs and into the 
little turret at the foot 
of the tower, where the 
biggest window was. 

"We ought to have 
defended Ms / ™ he cried 
to the others, as they 
followed him. He was 
just in time. Another 
man had swum over and 
his fingers were 
on the window- 
ledge. Robert 
never knew how 
the man had 
managed to 
climb up out of 
the water. But 
he saw the cling- 
ing fingers and 
hit them as hard 
as he could with ' 
an iron bar that 
he caught up 
from the floor. 
The man fell with 
a plop-plash into 
the moat -water. 
In another mo- 
ment Robert was 
outside the little 
room, had banged 
its door, and was 
shooting home 
the enormous bolts 
lend a hand. 

Then they stood 

and calling to Cyril to 

in the arched gateway, 
breathing hard and looking at each other. 

There was a creaking above, and then some- 
thing rattled and shook — the pavement they 

Digitized by GoOgJC 

stood on seemed to tremble. The'n a crash 
told them that the drawbridge had been 
lowered to its place. 

And now the drawbridge rang and echoed 
hollowly to the hoofs 
of horses and the 
tramp of armed men. 
" Up, quick/' cried 
Robert ; " let's drop 
things on them/' 

Even the girls were 
feeling almost brave 
now. They followed 
Robert quickly, and 
under his directions 
began to drop stones 
out through the long, 
narrow windows. 
There was a con- 
fused noise below 
and some groans. 
"Oh, dear," said An- 
thca, putting down the 
stone she was just going 
to drop out. " I'm afraid 
we've Hurt somebody ! " 

Robert caught up the 
stone in a fury. 

A< I should just hope we 
kmdl* he said. "I'd give 
something for a jolly good 
boiling kettle of lead. 
Surrender, indeed I " 

And now came more 
tramping and a pause, and 
then the thundering thump 
of the battering-ram. And 
the little room was almost 
quite dark. 

44 We've held it," cried 
Robert ; " we wotit sur- 
render ! The sun must 
set in a minute. Here, 
they're all jawing under- 
neath again. Pity there's 
no time to get mere 
stones ! Here, pour that 
water down on them. It's 
no good, of course, but 
they'll hate it." 

" Oh, dear," said Jane, 
"don't you think we'd 
better surrender ? " 
" Never ! " said Robert. " Well have a 
parley, if you like, but we'll never surrender. 
Oh, I'll be a soldier when I grow up, you 
just see if I don't. I won't go into the 
Civil Service, whatever anyone says." 

" Let's wave a handkerchief and ask for a 




2 J* 


parky," Jane pleaded " 1 don't believe the 
sun's going tu set to-night at all.'* 

"Give them the water first, the brutes," 
said the bloodthirsty Robert So Anthea 
tilted the pot over the nearest lead-hole and 
poured. They heard a 
splash below, but no 

one below seemed to l^ 

have felt it And again 
the ram battered the 
great door. Anthea 

H How idiotic!" said 
Robert, lying flat on 
the floor and putting 
one eye to the lead- 


hole ; " of course, the holes go straight down 
into the gate-house — that's for when the 
enemy has got past the door and the port- 
cullis and almost all is lust. Here, hand 

me the pot " He crawled into the three- 

cornered window-ledge in the middle of the 
wall, and taking the pot from Anthea poured 
the water out through the arrow-slit, And 
as he began to pour the noise of the batter- 
ing ram and the trampling of the foe and 
the shouts of "Surrender: 11 and "Talbot for 
ever ! " all suddenly stopped and went out 
like the snuff of a candle, the little dark 
room seemed to whirl round and turn topsy- 
turvy, and when the children came to them- 
selves, there they were, safe and sound, in 
the big front bedroom of their own house — 
the house with the ornamental iron top to 
the roof. They all crowded to the window 
and looked out The moat and the tents 

by Google 

and the besieging force were gone, and there 
was the garden with its tangle of dahlias and 
marigolds and asters and late roses, and the 
spiky iron railings and the quiet white road. 
Everyone drew a deep breath. 

u And that's all right !" 
said Robert ; " I told vou 
so I And I say — wc 
didn't surrender, did 
we? \ 

"Aren't you glad now 
1 wished for a castle ? " 
asked Cyril 

" I think I am mm\* 
said Anthea, slowly. 
il But I wouldn't wish 
for it again, I thinks 

" Oh, it was simply 
splendid/' said Jane, un- 
expectedly. " I wasn't 
frightened a bit" 

"Oh, 1 say ! '' Cyiil 
was beginning — but 
Anthea stopped him. 

" Look here," she said, 
" it's just come into my 
head. This is the very 
first thing we've wished 
for that hasn't got us into 
a row. And there hasn't 
been the least little scrap 
of a row about this. No- 
body's raging downstairs, 
we're safe and sound — - 
we've had an awfully jolly 
day— at least, not jolly 
exactly, but you know what I mean. And 
we know now how brave Robert is — and 
Cyril, too, of course," she added, hastily, 
" and Jane as well And we haven't got into 
a row with a single grown-up*" 

The door was opened suddenly and 

" Vou ought to be ashamed of yourselves," 
said the voice of Martha, and they could tell 
by her voice that she was very angry indeed ; 
" I thought you couldn't last through the day 
without getting up to some dodgery ! A 
person can't take a breath of air on the front 
door-step but you must be emptying the 
wash-hand jug on to their heads ! Off you 
go to bed, the lot of you, and try to get up 
better children in the morning, Now, then, 
don't let me have to tell you twice. If I 
find any of you not in bed in 
III let you know it, that's all 
and everything. Off you go ! " 

And off I hey went And that was the end 
of the besieged castle* 

Original from 

ten minutes 
A new cap 

Dickens as an Artist. 

By Leonard W. Ltllingston. 

ICKENS T S illustrators had a 
by no means easy Lime of it 
His requirements were exacting 
even beyond what is ordinary 
between author and artist. He 
was apt, as he himself said, 
11 to build up temples in his mind not always 
makable with hands." A passage m his 
biography goes farther than that. We are 
assured that the great novelist himself said 
that he was invariably disappointed in the 
illustrations. So much disappointed was he, 
according to another authority, that he would 
have preferred his books to have been 
published without them ! 

May not the true explanation of this dis- 

appointment be found in the three drawings 
by Dickens which accompany this article? 
His fingers itched, even though more or less 
unconsciously, to do the work himself. 

There is nothing in these sketches to 
indicate a pronounced artistic inaptitude* 
Upon some of us all the drawing lessons in 
the world would be thrown away. These, 
crude as they are, betray no such disability. 
And as to their crudity, it should be remem- 
bered that they are, on the face of it, sketches 
and not finished drawings — an entirely 
different matter. 

The portfolio of any professed artist would 
yield a crop of first designs almost as 
primitive in execution as these of Dickens. 



Original from 

Vol aiKtv* — 30 



LSI an hour!" 




But I do not propose to set up that Dickens 
was a great artist, only to suggest that he was 
not wanting in the artistic sense. We are 
enabled to fix the date approximately of one 
of these sketches at least, that which includes 
" Mr. Dibdin's High-Mettled Racer." 

This highly popular song of Dibdin's was 
published in 1831, with ten illustrations by 
Robert Cruik shank. It must have enjoyed 
an uncommon vogue, which probably lasted 
for some years. The great Ducrow staged 
an equestrian entertainment entitled " The 
High-Mettled Racer; or, the Life, Death, and 
Restoration of the Favourite Hunter/' In 
which his celebrated Hanoverian horse, 
Brigand, played the title role, The song is 
as poor a piece of versification as Dibdin 
ever perpetrated, and he perpetrated many; 
it i,s, perhaps, a little difficult at this date to 
understand its more than transient popularity. 
Kut it was a sporting song, and if we are a 
nation of sportsmen now, we were still more 
so then. The sketch was probably made 
between 1831 and 1837— that is, either shortly 
before or at the same time with the publica- 
tion of " Sketches by Boz/' 

We may at once acquit Dickens of any 
unfulfilled intention of drawing an ideal 
steed. Does he not himself refer dis- 
paragingly to the animal in the description 
beneath — "Two Miles an Hour; or, How to 
Frighten a Jackass * ? By the way, the jackass 
is, perhaps, the least like to nature of them 
all I am constrained to admit that at first 
sight it favours a hyena more than a 
jackass. The equestrian, too, must have his 
joke, or it would not be Dickens. "Veil, 
I declare," says he, li nankeen breeches 
are famous for riding in." Mr, Percy 
Fitzgerald has hinted at the probability that 
our descendants will have to read " Pickwick " 
with a glossary at their elbow. It is quite 
likely. And here is another proof of its 
likelihood ; for evidently this was some 

subtle satire of the time on the Cockney 
equestrian and his nankeen breeches, Alas> 
that time should have so dulled the point 
of it ! Hy the way, the artist evidently had 
in mind the last line of verse three of the 
song, which runs : "The high-mettled racer's 
a hack on the road + " 

I am inclined to think that the steed 
between the shafts is the better one. One 
need say no more of the pair behind the 
shafts except that they look "all werry jolly 
and comfortable," The conveyance, I 
suppose, might be described as a kind — 
of a sort — of a phaeton. For myself I can 
think of Dickens in connection with only 
one conveyance, "the neatest, pwettiest, 
gwacefullest thing that ever wan upon 
wheels— painted wed, with a eweam piebald," 
the property of Lord Mutanhed, 

The second word in the text accompany- 
ing the next drawing has, I must confess, 
proved somewhat puzzling. Having spent 
several hours in trying to decipher it to my 
satisfaction, I am, perforce, obliged to leave 
the final solution of the problem to the 
readers of Thu Strand Magazine. An 
expert in autographs, and in the Dickens 
autograph in particular, leans to the view 
that the title is "The 2 Faquirs and the 
Ducks," True, the spelling of " fakir n varies 
a good deal, as the dictionaries witness- 
But are these gentlemen below intended for 
fakirs? I should rather suggest that they 
are Red Indians; their head -gear alone 
seems to me sufficiently convincing. 

For the rest the expression on the features 
of the one in front -we only see him in 
profile, remember — appears to be intended 
to convey the inlensest indignation and 
surprise. " And that Duck," he says, "holds 
the Soul of my Mother." The face of his 
companion, on the other hand, wears a smirk 
of cynical indifference as though he had long 
since outgrown such "a creed outworn as 



. fy/*flL tJttU '£*'%&* 

\rsFfYJ£ M AH,> ™ E "***' Original from 





that of the transmigration 
of souls, and had been 
merely egging on his com- 
rade into a theological dis- 
cussion. Viewed in this 
light his " My father in- 
habits that Drake" is a mere 
piece of hypocrisy. The 
miller, With his Stick firmly 
planted on the ground, and 
breathing an air of defiance 
in general, is quite in- 
different to the doctrine of 
transmigration. " You may 
claim their Souls" says he, 
11 But you don't do me out 
of their Bodies" 

The third and last sketch 
is, as a drawing, perhaps 
the least interesting of the 
three ; but in another sense 
it far surpasses the others in 
interest, for in the left-hand 
corner of the sketch are the 
initials of the artist They 
are a quite characteristic 
Dickens autograph, as, 
indeed, is the autograph 
throughout all three. The 
"C"and 41 D" of this par- 
ticular sketch are, however, 
especially noteworthy. The 
Cheese wring is, of course, 
well known to visitors to 
Cornwall as one of its many 
Druid ical remains. The 
name is said to be derived from the shape, 
suggesting a cheese-press. The Cheesewnng 
consists of six stones superimposed one upon 
another. The top one was formerly, in all 
probability, a u Logan " or rocking-stone, now 
out of equipoise. The pile is about 32ft. high, 

I cannot find any trace of Dickens having 
visited Cornwall prior to the famous excur- 
sion in 1843, when he was accompanied by 
Clarkson Stanfield, Maclise, and Forster. 
"It was such an unexpected and continued 
attraction for us," writes Forster, l *that we 
were well into the third week of absence 
before we turned our faces homeward. Rail- 
ways helped us then not much, but where 
the roads were inaccessible to post-horses we 
walked." And Dickens himself wrote to his 
friend Felton : f( Placid star of morning! 
While yet the glow of its enjoyment was 
upon me. Such a trip as we had into 
Cornwall just after Longfellow went away. 
. , , Sometimes we travelled all night, some- 
times all day*" It is possible that Dickens 

Digitized by GoOgk' 

w ifet 

^ <: 



tm y 


sketched the stone on this trip. But I am 
inclined to the belief that he did not, and 
that the three sketches were made about the 
same time. And he may well have been to 
Cornwall before. Or, again, it is not unlikely 
that the Cheesewring was copied from one of 
the many engravings of it in existence, then 
as now. 

It remains to be said that Alfred Bryan, 
the artist, whose letter accompanies the 
drawings, apart from other connection with 
Dickens and his work, himself drew a series 
of lull -length studies of the principal charac- 
ters from Dickens. 

The photographs are directly reproduced 
from the original drawings now in the 
possession of Mr, W. T. Spencer, of 27, 
New Oxford Street, the well-known Dickens 
expert, by whose courtesy they were placed 
at the disposal of the writer for the purposes 
of this article. They are so far unique, for 
no other Dickens drawings have as yet been 


Original from 


Curiosities ;* 

[ We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section t atid to pay for such as are accepted.} 


"The two pet 
kangaroos shown here 
belong to ft con- 
stable in Gaboolture, 
Queensland, who has 
I rained ihcm as 
cri ck e I e rs , The phot o, 
was taken by Mr* 
Ranking, one of the 
stipendiary magistrates 
of Brisbane, who 
describes them as two 
typical memljers of an 
Australian eleven," — 
Mr. W. S. Paul, Royal 
Colonial Institute, 

"The accompanying photograph represents a num~ 
ber of hats collected by the police from the open 
space in front of the Ixmdon Royal Ex change on 
Peace Monday, June 2nd On that mouvng enthu- 
siastic crowds blocked the streets around the 
Exchange and Mansion House, with the result that 
traffic had to be suspended iW the lime. Not 
content with waving flags, shouting, and sing- 

change." — Mr, flerWrt 
Street, Bromley, Kent, 

ing, to celebrate 
the good news of the 
war being over p some 
gentlemen were seen 
throwing their silk hats 
into the air, while 
nt hers, wishful I o retain 
their own headgear, 
showed their en- 
thusiasm by removing 
and flinging up other 
people's hats* After 
the crowd had some* 
what dispersed the 
lettered tiles were 
taken in charge by 
the police, and are 
here shown in their 
cell under the portico 
of the Royal Lx- 
E. Grubb, iS f West 

* l Here is a photograph of an immense fleece 
of Irish wool, shorn near this town. I have photo- 
graphed it hanging on an old tree, after the manner 
of the Golden Fleece at Colchis, and Jason (on a 
ladder) is employed in holding it in position. The 
fact lh?t bo in he and his ladder are completely 
covered will give some idea of the sire of this fleece. 
— Mr 

Copyright, 190*1 by George 

ir. II. W. .Smith, MQulrie, Athlone, Ireland. 




*' EJere is an extremely in- 
leresting optical illusion. The 
horseman in the picture appears 
10 be riding in either direction, 
As a matter of fact, however, 
the photo, was taken from 
behind,"— Mr. IL C. Barton, 
20, Vanbrugh Tark, Black- 
heaih, S. E. 

**This photograph illustrates 
the bursting of a hot -air bal- 
loon, While the photographer 
was alx>ut to photograph this 
balloon Just before the intended 
ascehU it ruptured, emitting 
the volumes of black strike 
and gas so well shown in the 
photograph. This balloon had 


been used by the aeronaut a great many limes for the 
purpose of giving ascents at the various county fairs, and 
from the great numlier of patches one would conclude that 
I he huge l>ag had ruptured or had Ireen rent many limes. 
This bursting of ihe balloon occurred on the Fair grounds 
ar Chagrin Falls."— Mr. Chas. J. Aldrich, M.D., 6 1 z, 
Prospect Street, Cleveland, Ohio. 

" I send you the sketch of an engine, tender, and three 
coaches drawn by myself entirety w r ith a Remington type- 
writer, not a. stroke of any kind being added by hand. For 
those not familiar with the typewriters I will explain that : 
(l) the general outline is a continuation lo various lengths 
of the ' — ' (dash) used in underlining, the different angles 
being produced by shifting the paper in the machine ; (2) the 
windows and buffers are inverted commas ; (3) the wheels 

and roof- lamps were formed by 
placing a strip of paper over 
the carriage body and striking 
• O ' and * A ' respectively in 
such a manner as lo show only 
a portion of each lc(ter in the 
drawing ; {4) the dome of the 
engine is an inverted * U * ; 
(5) six brackets in different 
positions indicate steam ; {6) 
ihe sonic w hat u.M-essivc quantity 
of coal in the tender is a com- 
position of * dashes T and * full 
slops ' ; and, lastly* the telegraph 
wires and posts are made of 
dots and dashes. " — Mr. Ernest 
G. Denning, 2, Dean Street* 
Cape Town. 

'""This photograph shows the 
bull uni of a telegraph post 
through which a hole is pierced. This was 
done by a runaway team a month or two ago. 
One horse wen; each side of ihe post, and 
the end of the shaft came down liefore 
I hey g>t to the post. The shaft went 4 ft, 
(hrrmgh the post, and had to be pulk-d out 
I jack wards by the team. Neither of the 

horses was injured, and, strange to say, the 
shaft was not damaged in ihe slightest degree, 
but is still in use* The post is also almost 
as good as ever." — Mr, 11. L. La Roy, Cold- 
water, Out* 

-.- r J < ■-! ", 

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" fl Tl 11 IT II II It It II n T| Tl 

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Original from 


2 3 S 


u This picture illustrates a curious accident that happened 
here recently* This tin chimney-pot, about 7ft. long, fell a 
distanre of 25ft. on to the spike of the conservatory, which 
pierced it right through, nol a pane of glass lacing cracked or 
the house otherwise in jurecL" — Mrs. Rem fry, Firsleigh, Torquay. 

" There Is a superstition among the cowboys of the Western 
United States that a rattlesnake will not cross a hair lariat. 
That is one of the reasons that a lariat made of hair is a prized 
possession. The plains of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and 
California are infest ed with rattlesnakes, and the cow hoy who 
spreads his blanket for a night*s rest is liable to awaken and 
mid a bed fellow in the person of a ratller, atlracled by the 
warmth of his hotly. The cowboy who is fortunate enough to 
possess a hair lariat seeks the earth couch with a feeling of 
security, for he encircles his bed with coils of the hair rope, 
trusting in the efficacy of the charm to keep away his deadly 
enemy- Not long ago a 'tenderfoot * arrived at the ranch of a 
large cattle-owner in Arizona* He came there to study Nature 
and the ways of the festive cowboy* lie brought his camera 
with him for purposes of his own. He heard of the superstition 
connected with the hair lariat, and expressed doubls regarding 
its effectiveness as a protector from snakes. He determined to 
put the matter to a lest, however, so taking a couple of white 
rats he anchored them near a rattlesnake's den as bait with which 

to coax the snakes from the rocks. Around 
the rats he coiled the hair lariat, and later, 
when the rattlers had craw leu from their 
den, he bombarded them with stones. 
Then he used the camera* He secured 
indisputable evidence that the lariat is not 
a Liar to the progress of ihe rattlesnake/' — 
Mr. Arthur J, Burdick, 123, North Broad- 
way, Los Angel es t California. 

" Edward Beau pre, a young French 
giant, is 7ft* Min. high and weighs 3601b. 
1 lis neck is 2ft. around, his hands from 
wrist to middle fingertip are 1 2 Jin. , his 
shoes are No, 22, and from tip to tip of 

outstretched hands he measures loom. 
The gianfs early life was spent wilh his 
people at Willow Bunch, North -West 
Territory. Of late years he has led the 
life of a cowboy and ranch hand in 
Montana, where he was ' discovered/ 
Bean pre has nzwr l>ecn on exhibition, 
and has no desire to be, He was of 
age January 91 h last. He is French, 
and speaks that language fluently. His 
people were country folks, and of 
no more than average dimensions* 
From babyhood, however, he was 
a monster. Beginning his unusual 
growth at ihriv, in nine years he was 
6ft. 6in. htgh, and at seventeen had 
reached the 7ft* tin* mark. He has not 
yet ceased to ^mw. Last year he added 
ijin. to his stature." — Mr M. VY\ 
New -\ ferry, Press Club, San Train cisco, 





"The cedar stump shown 
in my first photo, was carved 
into the statue shown in the 
second by Mr. George Stewart, 
a patriotic Scot of seventy -six 
years of age, at Bonnie Brae 
Farm, South Saanich, B,C, 3 
and represents Sir William 
Wallace, the hero of Scotland. 
It is 6ft. 6in. in height from the 
top of the pedestal, which, 
according to tradition, was the 
height of this red oub table 
warriur. " — Mr. |. \Y. Stewart, 
P.O. Box 480, Victoria, B.C. 


"The accompanying photo- 
graph is of a restaurant at Felix- 

stowe, owned by a certain Mr* 
Stokes, who may be seen in the 
picture enjoying his morning 
paper outside his establishment. 
Being an enterprising man, he 
painted the words on the side of 
the house himself. For over a 
year past the mysterious word 
- leacc ' was a source of wonder 
to the inhabitants and visitors of 
Felixstowe. Determined, how- 
ever, to soke the problem, I way- 
laid the youthful scion of the 
house of Stokes and asked him 
the explanation. Fie replied that 
his father intended to pot up 


had begun in the middle, leaving 
no space between the end of 
1 cycle ' and the beginning of 
1 accommodation.' Apparently 
daunted by the magnitude of 
the task, and remembering the 
proverbial brevity of life, he 
relinquished it. His unfinished 
sign has, however, proved a 

Digitized by \j 

tatier advertisement to him than could have 
done the most elaborate example of the sign- 
painter's talent/' — Mr. K P. ' Walker, King's 
School, Canterbury, 

" This photograph, taken in mid -winter at the 
highest point in His Majesty's home domains, shows 
two of the meteorologists enjoying a game of ping- 
pong alongside the observatory on the summit of 
Ben Nevis, The photo, was taken when the snow 
reached an average depth of 7ft., and during the 
progress of the game the temperature was as low as 
tSdeg. Fahr, The table, composed as it was of a 
solid block of snow, covered with baize T served lis 
purpose admirably, and the game, if not played 
tinder the most favourable climatic conditions, can at 
least boast of * hi^h ' scoring."— Mr, Robert II. 
Macdongall, Ben Nevis Observatory. 


.'liqinsl train 




^The pump shown in 
the accompanying photo, 
has a double use, for in 
addition lo obtaining water 
from it our friend also uses 
it as a speaking-tube, and 
is able to carry on con- 
versation with his wife in 
a distant part of the 
house," — Mr. A. M, 
Bexfield, 6, Victoria Place, 
Grosvenor, Bath* 

** I send you a cutting 
from the Me fbo u r?i £ 
Aitstrnfastan ; it is con- 
sidered curious in regard 
to the markings on the 

it cannot be swept away by 
a flood and is inexpensive* 
Some care has lo Ik? exer- 
cised in crossing, as one 
cannot proceed forwards in 
the usual manner, but must 
sidle across* balancing one- 
self by means of the third 
wire. The photograph was 
taken on the Lsk, near 
Loch Lee, Glen Ksk, Kin- 
cnrdineshire 4 Scotland," — 
Mr. William G. Melvin, 
136, Hamilton Place, A tier 


u Among the American 
Indians the teeth of the 
elk have a reputation for 
bringing good luck- O. L. 
Richard s t of Kl Reno, 
Oklahoma, has a r>»lie nr dress ornamented with over 
i,ooo of the teeth, which is probably the only one 
of the kind in the United States. It is said lo 
have been made nearly a century ago by squaws 
of the Cheyenne tribe, and over forty of these 
women have worn it while being married to 
the warrior of their choice, as it was supposed to bring 

cow's face and l>ody, which clearly represent a young 
hippo calf, while the horns look like the legs of an 
acrolttt turning a somersault." — Mr. G, Chkty-Baker, 
Box 123,0. P.O., Perth, W.A. 

"The accompanying photograph shows 
apparently walking 
on water. In 
reality he is cross- 
ing a special form of 
wire bridge, consist- 
ing of three iron or 
steel wires, two close 
together forming a 
footway, and one 
4ft. or 5ft. higher 
taking the place of 
a hand-rail. This 
bridge, w r hich is 
specially adapted for 
small streams, has 
the advantages that 

future happiness. 
The photograph 
shows Mr. Richards 
attired in the dies** 
The teeth are so rare 
I hat they are ex- 
tremely valuable, 
ieing worth nearly 
ten shillings each. 
The garment shown 
is ornamented with 
1,024 uf them." — 
Mr. IX A. YYiHey, 


C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 


^ :qlr* 


(See fag* 247.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol- xxiv. 


Na [41. 



By K. E, Vernede. 

T was only about five o'clock 
on an October afternoon, yet 
Mr. Weatherly (iilliat had just 
come to the conclusion that 
lie was lost. All around him 
the moors stretched, uphill 
and down, and the purple and yellow of the 
gorse and heather, that had only recently 
begun to turn to an autumnal brown, 
were at this comparatively early hour 
being merged rapidly in the grey of a 
mist Mr (iilliat had calculated on finding 
some village or habitation before dusk, and 
the mist had turned things dusky an hour 
too early. Not that it greatly mattered. He 
was travelling at his leisure where the road 
took him, and the discovery that one could 

Vol* siciv. — 31. 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

lie lost in England merely gave him a higher 
opinion of the country. He had not con- 
ceived it possible. 

He was a young man, slight and well- 
made, with the lazy, capable look charac- 
teristic of some Americans. Anyone would 
have taken him for at least as good as he 
was— an engineer on his holidays — despite 
the carelessness of his attire. That one need 
not dress on the moors was what Mr, (iilliat 
was thinking at that moment. "Suit-case at 
Clovelly," he murmured to himself, u wher- 
ever Clovelly may be. I imagine Til strike 
some cottage hereabouts/' He felt in his 
jacket pocket to make sure he hadn't dropped 
his tooih brush* It was there all right, mixed 
up with his revolver. The revolver wns a 
Original from 



fad of Mr. Weatherly Gilliat's, having once 
been a necessity out West. A man who 
could win a prize for revolver ■ shooting at 
a cowbovs* sports has got accustomed to 
carrying a six-shooter. Mr* Gilliat hardily 
noticed his* If he had ever needed it his 
fingers could have closed on it and fired in 
about the same time as it takes most men to 
put their hands in their pockets* So far he 
had only used it to shoot a swimming vole 
from the opposite bank ol a stream for the 
edification of an old-world river inspector. 

He was high up on the moors when he 
decided to try and strike a cottage ; and in 
pursuance of that object he set out with long 
strides. The set of the moor was 
towards a valley hid by trees, and 
it was just under the first of the 
trees that he caught sight of some- 
one ahead of him, 

41 Hi !" shouted Mr, Gilliat. 

The person stopped, and he 
quickened his steps. 

* l Can you tell me, now " 

he began, and stopped himself* 

It was not a farm labourer, as 
he had imagined, but a young 
lady* Not even a dairy - maid. 
He could tell that even in the 
half light, She was very simply 
dressed and carried something in 
her hand. Under the curved 
straw hat was a very pretty face 
with an unmistakable air of dignity, 
though a little troubled perhaps, 

il Yes ? " she said, inquiringly, 

"I beg your pardon," said Mr* 
Gilliat, lifting his hat, *' I imagine 
I must have startled you," 

"Not at all" 

Dignity struggled with perturba- 
tion as she spoke. 

tl I thought M He hesitated. 

could not very well say that lie thought 
shtf was a farm hand. " It's a poor light, 
and" — he continued — "I believed I might 
ask you for a direction*" 

No one can be more chivalrous in his 
manner than an American, and the girl's 
perturbation vanished while he spoke. She 
even smiled, not being so concerned about 
her dignity. 

"I quite understand/' she said. "1 wish 
I could help you ; but the Tact is I'm just 
beginning to think that I've lost my own way. 
I'm — I'm really very much afraid I have." 

It came in a burst of confidence, the latter 
part of the speech, and revealed the cause of 
her anxiety. 

"I'm most sorry," he hastened to reply. 

u It's dreadful, isn't it ? " she said, trying to 
make light of it. " All my own fault, too* 
But we've only just come here* My aunt 
has taken rooms at a cottage, and I came 
out to paint, but in what direction I came 
from I really don't know." 

"It's the moor's fault/' said Mr. Gilliat, 
seriously; "the monotony* I might say I 
have travelled a good deal, but I'm outside 
my direction now.' 1 

41 Then we're both lost/ 5 she said. "Oh, 
dear ! ' T 

She stood there, the picture of perplexity. 
Unusually graceful perplexity, too, Mr* Gilliat 



by Google 

thought, and made haste to assure her that 
there could be no possible difficulty in re- 
discovering her road. Perhaps she would 
permit him to make inquiries on her 

41 But — where ? " she said. 
"The nearest bouse I can strike," 
lb It will be taking you out of your way?'' 
Mr, Gilliat explained his circumstances. 
He had no way in particular, and in any 
event would deem it an honour if he might 
assist her. 

** Well, you may/' she said, " if you can. 
The village I came from is called Berley, 
that I know ; but 1 must have walked four 
or five miles, without thinking about the 
time, before I began to paint. Whether 
Original from 




Berley lies north or south or east or west, I 
really haven't a notion now. I've been walk- 
ing about for nearly an hour to try and find 
someone to ask." 

" Have you been this way ? " The young 
man pointed down into the valley. 


"It looks as good as any other ? " 


" Let us try, then." 

They walked on together. The trees 
cleared very soon, and the prickly gorse 
began again. Exchanging names, Mr. 
Gilliat found that he was walking with Miss 
Trethewy, and that she lived in London. 
He confessed — not without pride — that he 
was an American. 

" Then you've never been on these moors 

" Nothing like them. They're prickly." 

The gorse was very prickly, and it was 
mainly for his companion that Mr. Gilliat 
felt it. He wondered that she made so little 
fuss, and was longing to tell her so when 
they came on to a broad, rugged track. Just 
ahead of them in an angle of the valley 
stood a house. 

" I shall be able to get back before my 
aunt is frightened, after all," said Miss 
Trethewy, seeing it, " if you will be kind 
enough to ask them the way." 

" But you must drive," insisted the young 
man; "you'll be losing your way again." He 
was beginning to take a personal interest in 
the matter, and could not bear to think of 
her wandering through those prickly, desolate 
places alone. " You will let me drive you 
back ? " 

Miss Trethewy considered. To tell the 
truth, she would very gladly be driven, for 
she was feeling a little nervous. Besides, it 
would be ungracious to refuse, and her aunt's 
alarm if she were later than the dinner-hour 
would be rememberable. 

" If you can get a trap," she said, " I think 
I should be very much obliged." 

" I believe I'll go in and ask," said Mr. 

It was not until he had made the offer that 
the American noticed the appearance of the 
house, and when he did his face fell. It hardly 
looked as if it could stable a trap, so remote 
and ramshackle was its appearance. A sign- 
board with the sign beaten out of it by time and 
weather proclaimed that it was an inn, the 
lettering, so far as Mr. Gilliat could figure it 
up, running to the name of "The Three 
Snakes." But the windows were shuttered 
and the door barred, and the weedy path 

that went along the entrance might have 
been untrodden for fifty years. 

" Nice old-world English hotel," said Mr. 
Gilliat, thoughtfully, surveying the blank 
establishment. "Wants white-washing." A 
lean fowl scuttled away into the gorse as he 
spoke and, somewhere at the back, a pig 
grunted mournfully. " I believe this'll be the 

He beat lustily on the worm-eaten door. 

" Perhaps it's uninhabited," suggested Miss 

" I imagine not. Heard someone sipping 
a mint-julep," returned the American, with 
his ear to the keyhole. " Deaf, I dare say." 
Again he battered. There was a shuffling of 
feet inside, followed by the steps of someone 
slowly advancing to the door. 

" No hurry," shouted Mr. Gilliat, annoyed 
by the extreme tardiness of the approach. 
" Don't break your legs running. Have 
another drink first. We're all in England." 

He apologized to the girl for his sarcasms 
at the expense of her country, while the 
person inside fumbled at the fastenings. 

"They are very slow here," she admitted. 

The exclamation was due to the appear- 
ance of the landlord. It might have been 
the curious light of the tallow candle that he 
carried in one hand which gave him so un- 
pleasant an appearance, but certainly it was 
enough to make her shrink back. He was 
not unlike a lean fowl himself, bald, and 
skinny-fingered, and his cheeks hung in 
pouches. He had the most rascally small 
eyes— lidless and very peering. He seemed 
to take them in at a glance, and gibbered 
some unintelligible dialect to someone 
behind him, evidently. 

" Don't mention it," said Mr. Gilliat, 
affably ; " I'll get out my dictionary next 
time I come along. But, say, mister, do you 
keep a cart ? " 

"What you'm want?" The old man 
settled himself to a kind of English. 

"That's right," said Mr. Gilliat, encou- 
ragingly. " We want something right straight 
away. Not so much a tombstone, as you 
might be imagining from our coming here— 
though it looks a fine place for a cemet-urry — 
but a cart Got a cart ? " 

" We're very anxious to drive to Berley — 
at once," supplemented Miss Trethewy. The 
old man directed his attention from Mr. 
Gilliat, whom he did not seem to understand, 
to the girl. 

" You'm wishing to drive t' Berley ? " he 
asked. " You're strange to thiccy parts ? " 

by K: 



j 1 1 1 ■_■ 1 1 1 




"That's it," said Mr. Gilliat. u Vurry 
strange. Say, have you got a cart ? *' 

"Iss, iss/' said the old man. He shouted 
something behind him again, and motioned 
them to come in* Alone, the girl would not 
have entered tor a fortune, but Mr. Gilliat's 
ease inspired her. 

"It won't be long, will it ? ?t she said, 
appealingly, as they entered. 

The landlord was sidling along ahead of 
them, the candle throwing little splashes of 

historical Anyway, we want that trap in 
about three minutes. See ? " 

"Iss, iss." The old man slunk away, dis- 
turbed by Mr. Gilliat's pertinacity, 

"I hope he won't be long," repeated Miss 
Trethewy ; "I feel perfectly frightened," 

He consoled her jokingly. For his own 
part he thought he had never met anyone 
more charming, but that mude him only the 
more anxious to effect what she wished. 
Several minutes he contrived to make pass 


light on the discoloured interior. She went 
on :— 

" Because tins is such a horrid place* 
You — you won't go away?" 

The American turned to her cheerfully* 

" Not much," he said* u I'm sorry it's so 
poor here. But that cart'll be the quickest 
thing [O get you home, Miss Trethewy ; I'll 
tell him to hurry*" 

The old man had ushered them into a sort 
of hare tap-room, and he set down the 
candle on the counter. Mr, Gilliat hastened 
to offer the girl a chair, and that done he 
rounded on the landlord, who was staring at 

11 Run along now and get out that four-in- 
hand. We're strange to these parts, as you 
say, but we don't want to get used to them, 
They aiivt picturesque enough — nothing 

by Google 

by his lively conversation, and at the end of 
them, seeing that she nun Id hardly restrain 
her anxiety, he got up to go and see after the 

"I'll go, too," she said. 

" Right." 

Just as they had decided to make a move 
there was a noise of approaching feet outside. 
Then the door was flung open and three 
men trooped in* Behind them the scarecrow 
landlord crept along, carrying another candle* 

"Cart ready?" cried Mr. Gilliat* 

For answer the landlord grinned, and 
passed his light to one of the men who were 
entering. He did not come in himself, but 
pulled the door to behind them. Mr. Gilliat 
heard a key turned in the lock, but sat still. 
The girl had half risen with a little cry of 
alarm. She had never seen such ruffianly- 
Original from 




looking men, and she also had heard the 
scraping of the key. 

" What is it ? " she whispered. 

" Can't say," said Mr. Gilliat ; " don't you 
be frightened." 

For a moment she entertained the sup- 
position that the young engineer might be in 
league with them — these horrible men — but 
a glance at him reassured her. He was 
sitting quite still in a la2y position, but with 
alert eyes. Still, he could do nothing to 
protect her against three assailants. % That 
they were such was pretty plain. The rear- 
ward man had set down the candle and stood 
with his back to the door. The other two 
were sidling along towards them. 

" Heard if that cart's ready ? " Mr. 
Gilliat's question, put in a disinterested tone, 
broke the silence. The man at the door 
gave a jeering laugh. 

"Look here, guv'nor," he said, "sink the 
cart. We don't want no mistake. Me an' 
my mates is poor men and wants money. 
Understand me? No vi'lence needed, but 
wot you got and miss has got, you're going to 
hand up — strite." 

The girl shuddered all over. The man's 
voice was so coolly menacing. She had the 
feeling that she was beyond help — in some 
alien horrible country'. All at once she 
caught sight of the dress of one of them, and 
whispered to Mr. Gilliat : — 

" They're convicts ! They've broken out 
of prison ! We read of it in the papers 
coming down. One's a murderer." 

The American nodded. He had suspected 
something of the kind as soon as he saw 

" They won't hurt," he whispered to her ; 
and then, raising his voice : — 

" Nice place, the Three Snakes ; I guess 
they called it after you." 

He had not changed his position except 
to put his hand in his pocket. 

The spokesman of the three muttered a 
violent oath and took a step forward. 

" No kiddin', mate," he said. " We ain't 

got the time. It's out with it, or " He 

slipped something down from his sleeve and 
produced an iron bar. " There's a warder 
up there's felt it," he said, savagely ; " you 
'ave yer choice." 

" Wal," said Mr. Gilliat, speaking broad, 
" I guess it's this " 

He fumbled in his pocket. Next moment 
there was a loud report, a yell from the man 
at the door, and the iron bar rattled on the 
floor. A stream of smoke issued from the 
American's pocket as he sprang up. Miss 

by K: 



Trethewy was on her feet, as pale as ivory, 
and he took her by the hand and crossed to 
the other side of the counter before the men 
had recovered from their astonishment. 

" Stoop behind it," he said, and she 
did so. The man who had been spokes- 
man was hanging on to his right arm, 
yelling horribly. The other two started to 
rush the counter. Mr. Gilliat faced them 
comfortably, with his elbow upon it. He 
had taken his revolver from his pocket, and 
eyed it lovingly. 

" Like old times," he murmured/ 

" Drop 'im, boys," said the wounded man, 
with an oath, seeing the others stop short 
before the shining barrel. 

In the moment of their hesitation Mr. 
Gilliat spoke : — 

"Gentlemen," he said, "this is a six- 
shooter, as you may see. One of the bullets 
is fired, as our friend at the door knows. 
Subtract one from six— leaves five. There's 
only, so far as I can see, two snakes left, and 
the landlord. If there were seven of you I 
shouldn't advise, but out West, when I got 
first pull on a man, he generally calculated to 
put up his hands." 

He paused, and the man at the door 
shouted out again : — 

" Drop 'im, boys." 

What happened next, Miss Trethewy stoop- 
ing in the shelter of the bar-counter could 
not quite make out. The men must have 
made a rush, for two more reports rang out 
and the smoke filled the room. She heard 
horrible cries and curses, and the voice of the 
landlord squeaking at the door, and outside a 
sound of galloping horses. As the smoke 
cleared away she saw the young man still 
lounging against the counter as before, his 
mouth set a little harder perhaps, the revolver 
still in his hand. 

" Any more coming along ? " he asked. 

Two of the men were supporting them- 
selves against the wall, and one had fallen 
flat. They made no answer. Mr. Gilliat 
raised his voice for the benefit of the landlord 
outside : — 

" Say, mister, is that trap ready yet ? " 

Quite suddenly the door was burst open, 
and half-a-dozen men appeared, dragging the 
landlord between them. 

"They're policemen," said Miss Trethewy, 

Policemen they were, and very much 
astonished to find what was going on inside. 
The inspector in charge explained to Mr. 
Gilliat that they had only just tracked the 
three men to the inn, though they had 

Original from 





escaped from the convict prison two days 

" Lucky we found you in time/' he said, as 
his men secured their prisoners, after a 
general explanation. 

"Very," said the American. "I imagine 
I'd have had to put that trap to myself if you 
hadn't struck our track. As it is, the old 
gentleman that runs the house'll put it up 
for me. fJ 

"We shall want him afterwards*" 

"You shall have him," s.iid Mr. (iilliat. 

But it was after dinner-time before Miss 
Trethewy got back again to the cottage that 
her aunt had taken at Berley, so late that 
Mr. Gilliat had to accept the offer of a room 

for the night next door. He was very glad 
to, he said. The place was more historical 
than he had supposed. 

"Perhaps you will stay until you've got 
through that troublesome business of giving 
evidence at the prison?" suggested Miss 
Trethewy's aunt, whose gratitude for her 
niece's rescue was almost hysterical, "We 
should be so delighted — and my son, who is 
coming down/ 1 

Mr, Ciilliat looked at the girl She had 
recovered from her paleness, and had roses 
enough in her cheeks. He was not at all 
sure that she did not look prettier than the 
preLtiest American girl he VI seen. 

11 Td like to stay— greatly," he said. 

by Google 

Original from 

li Would You be art Actress ? " 

F you had your time over 
again, would you still elect 
to be an actress, taking into 
account your knowledge of 
the hardships, disappoint- 
ment^ and drawbacks inci- 
dental to a career on the stage ? " That was 
the question which we sought to get answered 
by the actresses whose names are lam: liar to 
the great body of playgoers, 

command the same returns as men — at all 
events, so early hi their career Mark, I say 
so early in their career 3 otherwise people will 
point to one or two conspicuous successes in 
writing like Lucas Malet, Marie Corelli, and 
Sarah Grand, and to Rosa Bonheur in paint- 
ing. Painting and writing still remain, for 
the most part, man's work, and it is especially 
apparent when one leaves consideration of 
the most successful craftsmen and 


fftont a Pfuiio r fcf 
H'tTfTnicr Grata. 

"If a woman 
has talent for 
the stage," said 
Miss Lily Han- 
bury, M it offers 
her, in my 
opinion, a greater oppor 
tunny than any pther call- 
ing for the making of an 
income. On the stage a 
woman is man's equal so 
far as her wage-earning 
capacity goes, and in a 
few conspicuous In- 
stances, which will readily 
occur to everyone, she 
may even be his superior. 
The same can certainly 
not be said with regard 
to other artistic profes- 
sions like writing or paint- 
ing, for women do not 


Pram a H U A t. bf 


comes to the 
more ordinary 

"This con- 
si deration is 
certainly one of 
the reasons which in- 
duce me to say that were 
my time to come over 
again I should certainly 
go on the stage. Again, 
some people say that 
ife is not com- 
patible with domesticity. 
I never can sec why a 
woman cannot combine 
the two. There is little 
difference, to my mind, 
whether one spends the 
evening at the theatre or 
£oin^ from ])arty to party 
r^UZZ^T** < ilfrpiBtort society women 




do and getting home at all hours of the night 
The strain on their nerves, too, must be as 
great as the strain on the nervous system of an 
actress, and I acknowledge that that is great* 
Still, according to my experience, it is not 
always equally great Some plays make a 
demand on you throughout the run; but in 
others you get used to it, and the work thus 
becomes much easier. When I was playing 
Chorus in ' Henry V./ for instance, I never 
felt comfortable at all during the run, a fact 
to which the peculiar conditions under which 
I appeared no doubt contributed, for I had 
to sit or stand alone on a platform raised 
above the st&^e. 
" To my mind, 
too, stage life is a 
very happy life. 
It is always a 
to please people, 
and I hat gratifica- 
tion is essentially 
the actor's. True, 
every light in- 
volves a shadow, 
and against the 
pleasant things 
one has to put 
the unpleasant 
remarks when 
one doesn't suc- 
ceed. Still, it is 
possible to shut 
oneself away from 
some of these un^ 
pleasant things, 
and that, in my 
opinion, is always 
desirable, I think 
that, as the foot- 
lights throw a 
certain glamour 
over a woman 

when she is on the stage, she should not mini- 
mize that effect by being seen too much off 
the stage, for that is apt to detract from her 
power over the public. The whole question 
is, however, a very delicate one. Many 
people talk about the temptations of the 
sta^e as being a great reason why women, if 
they had their ekinee over again, should not 
choose the life. For my own part I have 
been connected with the theatre since I was a 
child of fourteen. I have never had anything 
but the greatest courtesy either from those 
connected with the stage or the members of 
the audience who frequent the theatre. I 
may, therefore, be allowed to believe that 

Frvm n Ph&to. frpl 


there are no more temptations on the stage 
than there are off it" 

"Personally, I should say, if I had to 
choose a thousand mtllion times over, I 
should choose the stage," was Miss Dorothea 
Baird's characteristically enthusiastic reply. 
" My reason is, however, not based on any 
question of success which I may have won 
as an actress, but on the enjoyment I have 
had out of the work itself. That enjoyment 
has been very great indeed, I don't think 
that the hardships of life on the stage ought 
to deter any woman from a theatrical career 

if she has an in- 
clination to it, 
provided she is 
fairly strong, for 
health has a great 
deal to do with 
wi t hsta n d i ng 
those hardships. 
I know in my 
own case when I 
began the strain 
knocked me up 
frightfully, but in 
time, as I grew 
stronger, I was 
quite able to 
overcome the 
fatigue. Similarly, 
I w T ould not say 
that, because a 
girl didnotevince 
a great deal of 
aptitude at once, 
she was neces- 
sarily unsuited 
to a theatrical 
career, for some 
people who have 
seemed rather 
dull at first and 
less apt than their comrades have developed 
into bigger things than those who began by 
being very easy on the stage and appeared 
full of promise. There is one thing, 
I am certain, which will help everyone 
who would choose ns I would — the 
kindness which exists in the theatre. I 
know I have met with more real kindness on 
the stage than anywhere else, and from actors 
and actresses more than from any other people. 
Feeling as I do about the stage, my advice 
to a would-be actress would not be 'keep 
away/ but 'go on if you are really keen 
about it. 3 Of- course the theatre is enor- 

| Miuiit ft Fiy, 



that in time it will end> like everything else, 
in a survival of the fittest. One wants to 
care a great deal about acting to enjoy the 
work, for it is work and not amusement 
If I had a daughter I should not mind her 
goint; on the stage if she had to work, but 
my daughter could hardly be ready to take 
up acting for about twenty years, and it is 
hard to say whether acting will be a lucrative 
profession at that time. Perhaps, from pre- 
sent appearances, it might not be t and that 
fact would necessarily colour one's views ; 
but choosing for myself again to-day my 
answer would undoubtedly be a most 
emphatic * Yes.' n 

u l cannot understand anyone being any- 
thing else than 
an actress if she 
is born one." 
Those were the 
words of Miss 
Marion Terry, 
and she con- 
tinued; "I think 
it is a most mag- 
nificent profes- 
sion in every way, 
if Mken seriously* 
Please note that 
I say taken seri- 
ously, for acting 
is very hard 
work and not a 
pastime. It is 
full of heart- ^*™^*fi 
breaks, worries, 

and anxieties. There are any number of 
them to contend with. One has often to 
give up many things for the sake of the 
work, There are often times when one 
would rather do other things and go to other 
places than the theatre to act, but the hour 
comes and one has to go. Sometimes one 
doesn't feel well enough, but still one has to 
go. Sometimes those we love are ill and 
we want to stay at home and help nurse 
them, but we have to put away all such 
wishes and go and do our work at the 
theatre. I said just now that acting must be 
taken seriously. It doesn't do only to study 
the words of the part; one has to study the 
character of the part one is called upon to 
impersonate, and all the other characters in 
the play as well. Study of character is as 
important as the words. I could talk on 
this subject for hours, but I should always 
say the same thing — that I would decide 
upon being an actress, never mind how 


many times I was allowed to alter my 

Mrs. Patrick Campbell being in America, 
it svas impossible to get her answer direct ; 
but on authority, which we would not venture 
to quote if it were not absolutely unimpeach- 
able, we can say that her view of the question 
is as follows. When she was quite a little 
girl in the nursery she used to play with 
some cousins, and they used, child-like, to 
discuss the future and what they would like 
to be in the coming years. " I would like 
to be a Queen/' one would say ; while 
another, desiring still greater state, would 
declare, "I want to be an Empress.' 1 
When the actress-to-be had her turn, her 

verdict was, "1 
would rather be 
an actress than 
any Empress in 
the world," and T 
however much 
the others might 
change their 
views, she always 
remained con- 
stant to her 
choice. To-day 
if she were aslud 
she would rup'y 
in exactly the 
same words, only 
now the word 
" actress " means 
"artist " to her. 

[Etiif tt II' !.'• '•; 

"All things considered, I wouldn't go on 
the stage/' were the emphatic words of Miss 
Rosina Biandram, whose experience is almost 
unique in London, for, although actors and 
actresses move from theatre to theatre with, 
to them, anxious intervals of nothing to do, 
she has been associated with the Savoy from 
the time it was opened. * : In the first place," 
she continued, "it is very uphill work getting 
a position, and in the next, unless you have a 
great deal of strength, it is a severe strain 
and constant hard work. At least, I con- 
sider it so. That the life is one of false 
excitement everybody knows. The strain 
comes when one is rehearsing a new 
opera and acting at ni^ht. In the 
case of ill-health, when you do not feel 
up to the mark, you still play rather than 
disappoint the public. Acting under such 
circumstances puts a strain on one's 
frame and brain, for one naturally exerts 
oneself to QhiflilQ&hfeUTl In taking up a 


35 3 


From a rhota. bt] an** fopteaCUK. {Wbl WUtttl*^ Lid 

public career one knows one must sacrifice 
oneself to the public and the manager* But, 
as I said just now, if I had my time over 
again I would not do it, for I am very 
domesticated ; I love my home and every- 
thing to do with home life, and am perfectly 
happy whh my work, my bookstand my pels, 
and I want nothing else. On the other side 
of the picture there is the fact that there is 
no greater pleasure in the world than to be 
able to go on a platform and amuse and get 
the thanks of the audience. Then one feels 
grateful for the gifts God has given to one." 

** If I had children, women children, they 
shouldn't have to work at all," was Miss 
Fortescue's epigrammatic reply. '* If I had 
men children they should work the urmUt 
part of the days of their life, but neither the 
women nor the men children should work on 
the stage. If I had to start young people 
on a career, the boys should be sailors and 

Digitized by l^( 

the girls should go into commercial life. 
The sailor's life is the ideal training to 
make a L man/ for it teaches him to obey 
without question, and obedience is the 
first law of Nature, It develops his re- 
sourcefulness in the most extraordinary 
manner. It teaches him self-dependence, 
and he gets the nonsense knocked out of 
him by the finest set of gentlemen on 
God's earth. If at eighteen, when he had 
had about two years 5 experience of what 
it meant really to be a sailor, and was 
able to appreciate the full possibilities of 
the life, he said, ( I have a well-founded 
dislike of the sea/ he would still not be 
disqualified for any other career in the 
world, and he would take into it qualities 
which would be useful for his equipment 
throughout his life, and he would have 
bid up a stock of health which would be 
of inestimable value to him As far as 
girls go, I object to girls doing work at all ; 
but, if they had to, I should put them, as 
I said, into commercial life. My reason 
for this is that I think it is the outlook in 
which, reasonably speaking, there are the 
best chances of making a good deal of 
money. From both sexes I eliminate the 
few, the very few I have never found 
one — the geniuses who decide everything 
for themselves and want no laws made 
for them. 

" From what I have said about choos- 
ing a career for young people you will 
probably be surprised if, being a woman, 
I should practise what I preach, and if I 
bad my time over again I should start in 
commercial life* The whole aspect of the 
stage has changed completely of late years, 
and the conditions are quite different from 
what they were when I first entered the thea- 
trical profession. The stage, indeed, is rapidly 
becoming * morganeered 'like everything else, 
only, of course, in a minor way. Personally, 
I have nothing to grumble at in my career, 
for if the stage has not given me * more than I 
desire,' it has given me ' more than I deserve/ 
Of course, there are heart-breaks, and dis- 
appointments, and anxieties in connection 
with the professional life of the theatre. 
What profession is there in which they do not 
exist ? My reason for saying women should 
not have to work is that I would not have 
any woman know anything of heart breaks 
and disappointments and miseries. I may be 
singular, but I do not believe that adver- 
sity and suffering are good for people. The 
people in my experience who strive most to 
bring about the happiness of others are those 




who have been most happy themselves, the 
most generous are those who have known 
the least struggling, and those who are the 
tendered of other people's reputations are 
those of blameless lives themselves* 

"The great thing in choosing a career is, it 
seems to me, first to find something which 
supplies a necessity of the time. I am one 
of those terrible people who believe that the 
theatre is not a necessity. It may be a 
pleasant or an unpleasant luxury according 
to the way you look at your pleasures, but it 
is not a necessity. Now, enterprises which 

school of use in such affairs- 

-the school of 

"I can't imagine doing anything else if I 
had my time over again," said Miss Winifred 
Emery. "You see, 1 was born for it. I 
don't mean to insinuate by that with any 
supernatural talent, but because I come of a 
theatrical family. My father said when I 
was born, 'Well, I suppose she will be an 
actress when she grows up ' ; and at school 
it was my great boast, ( I am going on the 
stage when I grow up.' I really never had 

supply hooks, furniture, carpets, hangings, 
dresses, hats, and other things that I may 
name, alt supply goods which people are not 
going without, while the people who supply 
theatrical commodities come in after these — 
in English-speaking countries* For this 
reason, if I had the placing of people in the 
world, I should make them sell the things 
that are the necessaries of the majority, not 
the luxuries of the minority. Bui perhaps I 
may make one more observation, and that 
the only one of any matter at all. That is 
to recall to your mind the proverb about 
'bachelors' wives 1 and 'old maids* children.' 
If children had fallen to my share they would 
probably have led me by the nose as others 
are, and my opinions might then have been 
of some value, having been gained in the only 

a choice of anything else, and, apart alto- 
gether from the fact that were I to have my 
time over again the same conditions would 
prevail, I say most emphatically I would go 
on the stage. 

(t On the other hand, I don't want my 
daughters to be actresses. The reason, how- 
ever, is not anything to do with the life, but 
from utter selfishness on my part. I think I 
have had enough stage life, and 1 should like 
to devote myself to home life and friends. 
If my daughters went on the stage I should 
have to go on with my old life in theirs, 
and that, I confess, I do not want to do. 
If, however, it became necessary that they 
should earn their own living, I don't consider 
they could do anything better than devote 
themselves 'iiritjiwriaila'^n'i True, on the stage 


2 54 


we have disappointments and heart-burnings ; 
almost as many, perhaps, when we get on as 
at the beginning, Still, everybody has them, 
and it would be very bad if we didn't, for we 
should become dreadfully spoilt and over- 
bearing, A great many of the disappoint- . 
ments and heart-burnings on the stage come, 
in my opinion, from the fact that people start 
with preconceived opinions of what they 
want to do instead of what they are best 
fitted for, and fret and fume because they are 
given what they are best fitted for instead of 
what they want. I know that, as a child, 
when people asked me what I should like to 
play when I grew up— comedy or tragedy — I 
always replied 'Tragedy ! ! And when, after- 
wards, I found that no one seemed to 
care for my efforts in that direction, I 
was terribly disappointed, and a lot of 
the enthusiasm for my work left me for ever. 
But I am resigned now to play the parts 

which people have chosen for me, and so I 
think I am escaping a good many of the 
disappointments I should otherwise have 
attributed to my life as an actress ! " 

* c If I had my time over again," Miss 
Millard writes, l< I would still choose the 
stage as a profession, for I have a threat 
love for the work — the acting— which goes 
far to compensate for the hard work, the 
disappointments, and the strain it imposes 
on one, If, however, I were asked if I 
should like to see a child of mine on the 
stage, I would say I would use all my 
influence to prevent it ; as, though one feels 
one could endure the nervous strain and ten- 
sion oneself, I am sure one could not calmly 
see it wearing on anyone one loved. I 
also consider that after a certain number of 
years it tells greatly on the health." 

*' If I had to work for my 
living as I had to when I 
went on the stage," were 
Miss Eva Moore's words, 
" I should certainly do what 
I have done. I speak with 
a certain knowledge, for I 
tried other things before I 
tried the stage, and I didn't 
find them half so interest- 
ing. Of course, one has to 
take into consideration the 
additional fact that one is 
apt to like work in which 
one has been more or less 
successful. My earlier work 
was that of a governess, I 
was not highly educated 
enough to he governess to 
grown-up children, and 
thus able to command a 
salary worth while having, 
so I had to content myself 
with teaching younger 
children- If I could have 
been governess to elder 
girls or taken important 
classes in a school I should 
not have tried the stage, for 
my bringing up did not tend 
that way. It is useless to deny, 
however, that if I had kept 
on governess] ng I should, 
even under the best condi- 
tions, never have been able 
to make so much money as 
. on the stage. This admission 
1 Wtey oRPffigarded as an in> 




prudent one in so far as it may encourage 
girls to go on the stage who have no aptitude 
for the work. If they do, they are doomed 
to disappointment, fur there is far more 
money to be earned as a competent gover- 
ness—even for younger children — than there 
is as an incompetent actress. There is no 
more trying and wearying calling than that of 
the woman on the stage who has no special 
ability, and who has to keep herself out of 
her earnings. Personally, if I had had an 
income I should never have dreamt of work- 
ing, as I think it is a mistake for women to 
work if they don't have to. Perhaps people 
will ask why, in view of this admission, I go 
on working* The reason is simply that, after 
having worked for many years, work becomes 
part of one's life, fosters an ambition, and 
therefore one has to go on. The stage 
resembles governessing in one respect : it 
needs no capital to enable one to make a 
start. If a woman wants to be an artist she 
has to spend years in pre- 
liminary training; if she 
wishes to be a writer she 
must be able to support 
herself while she is pro- 
ducing the work. Her 
ordinary education, how- 
ever, is all she needs to be 
either a governess or an 
actress. That is the reason 
why so many women take 
to the stage ; why, in my 
opinion, we hear so much 
about the overcrowding of 
the dramatic profession ; 
and why so many women 
find so much disappoint- 
ment in it 11 

"Oh, yes, certainly," 
was Miss Irene Van brush's 
answer to my question, 
* l I should go on the stage 
if I had to choose again. 
My reason is that it is a 
most interesting life and a 
most interesting art. When 
I became an actress I wa? 
quite prepared to give up 
everything else for the 
stage, and I should do it 
again. I believe it is a 
great thing for a woman 
to have some particular 
interest in life, and I am 
strongly inclined to say that 
no one who is not suited 

to the stage could stay on it for more than 
two or three years* There are some cases 
in which dramatic talent does not manifest 
itself early, or where the opportunities for 
its manifesting itself are lacking, and one 
sees women staying on for a long time. If 
they have the grit to stick for so long in 
spite of the drawbacks and the setbacks 
which are inevitable to a theatrical career 
they are bound to do well in time, as 
they would be bound to do well in 
any other calling if they had the same 
perseverance. That complete self- devotion 
argues in my mind an innate belief in one- 
self, and a consciousness of ability which 
must produce its effect sooner or later, One 
often hears people say, * Ob, I will give my 
life up for the stage,' but when it comes to 
going to a rehearsal or an afternoon tea-party 
they elect for the party and let the rehearsal 
take care of itself. These are the people 
who, in accordance with my experience, 




complain of the hard life or the stage, and 
are constantly bemoaning the fact that they 
never get a chance. In this connection I 
will recall a case in point When 1 was 
almost a beginner I was given a tiny part 
of twenty lines. Three girls who were 
walking on in the crowd were given my part 
to understudy. Very soon after the play 
began I got ill and couldn't act. Of the 
three girls only one had taken the trouble to 
study the part. 
Naturally, she 
played it all the 
time I was out 
of the bill, and 
that was the 
starting-point in 
her career. One 
of the others 
actually came to 
me when I re- 
turned and be- 
moaned the fact 
that she never 
got a chance. 
When the chance 
was given to her 
she had not 
taken it, The 
fact, as it seems 
to me, is that the 
stage is an ad- 
mirable career 
for a woman who 
has the talent 
and who is will- 
ing to work, It 
is not an admir- 
able career for 
women who 
either lack the 
peculiar talent it 
requires or who 
desire a sup- 
posedly pleasant place in which to idle 
during rehearsals and to idle in the evening." 

Equally emphatic in favoftr of the stage was 
Miss Alma Murray, who, after an over long 
absence from the sta^e ? has recently returned 
to take her old position among the leading 
actresses of the day. "Certainly I would 
be an actress were my time to come over 
again, for I love the work. Every woman 

with an artistic impulse in her must have her 
field of work, and if that field is in the land 
of the theatre she will devote herself to it, no 
matter what may be the drawbacks, Per- 
sonally, I believe that those drawbacks are 
greatly overrated. Many people say that 
the stage is such a bad atmosphere* It is 
no worse than any other atmosphere, I 
have been connected with the stage from 
the time I was quite a child, and I 

have never seen 
any results in the 
theatre which 
would not have 
been obtained 
outside it under 
the same condi- 
tions. Acting 
being the thing 
I love, I should 
take it up again 
just as, now, I 
go on with it, 
for if one is dis- 
appointed with 
the results it is 
surely quite easy 
to cease acting 
by abstaining 
from going on 
the stage. Some 
people say that 
a stage career is 
incompa t i hie 
with home life. 
I, however, don't 
believe that any 
real woman need 
give up any part 
of her domes- 
ticity by being 
an actress. It is 
quite possible to 
combine a liTe on 
the sta^e with a home life, and I myself, having 
both, have lost neither. On the contrary, I 
have gained, for I believe that, properly dealt 
with, the theatre is as strong an educational 
influence as the church itself. The play is 
the thing, and if properly acted the audience 
sees the influence of one character on another, 
and so learns human nature on a broad scale 
rather than on the narrow lines on which 
most people's lives are necessarily laid." 

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Original from 



second officer of the ss. 
Wizard^ emerged from the 
dock - gates in high good- 
humour to spend an evening 
ashore. The bustle of the 
clay had departed, and the inhabitants of 
Wapping, in search of coolness and fresh 
air, were sitting at open doors mid windows 
indulging in general conversation with any- 
body within earshot. 

Mr. Catesby, turning into Hash ford s Lane, 
lost in a moment all this life and colour 
The hum of distant voices certainly reached 
there, but that was all, for Bashford's Lane, a 
retiring thoroughfare facing a blank dock 
wall, capped here and there by towering 
spars, set an example of gentility which 
neighbouring streets had long ago decided 
crossly was impossible for ordinary people to 
follow. Its neatly grained shutters, fastened 
back by the sides of the windows, gave a 
pleasing idea of uniformity, while its white 

steps and polished brass 
knockers were suggestive 
of almost a Dutch cleanli- 

Mr. Catesby, strolling 
co m for ta b 1 y al o n g, stopped 
suddenly Ijf another look 
at a girl who was stand- 
ing in the ground - floor 
window of No. 5. He 
went on a few paces and 
then walked back slowly, 
trying to look as though 
he had forgotten something. The girl was 
still ihere, and met his ardent glances un- 
moved : a fine girl, with large, dark eyes, and 
a complexion which was the subject of much 
scandalous discussion among neighbouring 

41 It must be something wrong with the 
glass, or else it's, the bad light,' 1 said Mr. 
Catesby to himself ; * 4 no girl is so beautiful 
as that" 

He went by again to make sure. The 
object of his solicitude was still there and 
apparently unconscious of his existence. He 
passed very slowly and sighed deeply. 

" YouVe got it at last, Dick Catesby," he 
said, solemnly ; "fair and square in the most 
dangerous part of the heart. It's serious 
this time." 

He stood still on the narrow pavement, 
pondering, and then, in excuse of his flagrant 
misbehaviour, murmured, u It was meant to 
be," and went by again. This time he 
fancied that he detected a somewhat super- 
cilinus expression in the dark eyes a faint 
raising of well -arched eyebrows. 

His engagement to wait at Aldgate Station 
for the second engineer and spend an evening 

V.>l r i*lv t — 33. Copyright, 1903, by W. W. Jacobs in the United Sutes of Amersra, 


*5 8 


together was dismissed as too slow to be 
considered. He stood for some time in 
uncertainty, and then turning slowly into the 
Beehive, which stood at the corner, went 
into the private bar and ordered a glass of 

He was the only person in the bar* and 
the landlord, a stout man in his shirtsleeves, 
was the soul of affability. Mr. Catesby, after 

various general remarks, 
made a few inquiries 
about an uncle aged five 
minutes, whom he 
thought was living in 
Bash ford's Lane* 

11 1 don't know mi," said the landlord. 

" I had an idea that he lived at No. 5," 
said Catesby, 

The landlord shook his head. 4< That's 
Mrs. ' Truefitt 's house/' he said, slowly. 

Mr. Catesby pondered. "Truefitt, True- 
fiti," he repeated ; " what sort of a woman is 
she ? " 

"Widder-woman/'said the landlord; "she 
lives there with 'er daughter Prudence." 

Mr. Catesby said " Indeed ! " and being a 
good listener learned that Mrs. Truefitt was 
the widow of a master-lighterman, and that her 
son, Fred Truefitt, after an absence of seven 
years in New Zealand, was now on his way 
home. He finished is is glass slowly and, 
the landlord departing to attend to another 
customer, made his way into the street again* 

lie walked along slowly, picturing as he 
went the home-coming of the long absent 

Digitized by G< 

son. Things were oddly ordered in this 
world, and Fred Truefitt would probably 
think nothing of his brotherly privileges. 
He wondered whether he was like Prudence. 

He wondered 

*' By Jove, I'll do it \" he said, recklessly, 
as he turned. " Now for a row." 

He walked back rapidly to Bashford's Lane, 
and without giving his courage time to cool 

plied the knocker 
of No, 5 briskly, 
The door was 
opened by an 
elderly woman, 
thin, and some- 
what querulous 
in expression. 
Mr. Catesby had 
just time to notice 
this, and then he 
flung h i s arm 
round her waist, 
and hailing her 
as " Mother!" 
saluted her 

The faint 
scream of the 
astounded Mrs. 
Truefitt brought 
her daughter 
hastily into the 
passage. Mr, 
Catesby's idea 
was ever to do a 
thing thoroughly, 
and, relinquish- 
ing Mrs, Truefitt, 
he kissed Pru- 
dence with all the 
ardour which a 
seven years' 
absence might 
be supposed to engender in the heart of a 
devoted brother, In return he received a 
box on the ears which made his head ring. 

'* He's been drinking/ 1 gasped the dis- 
mayed Mrs- Truefitt. 

i( Don't you know me, mother?" inquired 
Mr, Richard Catesby, in grievous astonish- 

" He's mad/ h said her daughter. 
11 Am 1 so altered thatjrw don't know me, 
Prudence?" inquired Mr. Catesby, with 
pathos. " Don't you know your Fred ?" 

11 Go out," said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; 
* f go out at once." 

Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other 

in consternation. . r 

unginal from 



2 59 

u I know I've altered/' he said, at last s 
"but I'd no idea " 

" If you don't go out at once I'll send for 
the police/' said the elder woman, sharply. 
** Prudence, scream ! " 

"I'm not going to scream," said Prudence, 
eyeing the intruder with great composure. 
(t I'm not afraid of him/' 

Despite her reluctance to have a scene — a 
thing which was strongly opposed to the 
traditions of Bashford's Lane — Mrs, Truefitt 
had got as far as the doorstep in search of 
assistance, when a sudden terrible thought 
occurred to her : Fred was dead, and the 
visitor had hit upon this extraordinary fashion 
of breaking the news gently. 

"Come into the parlour," she said, faintly. 

Mr. Gates by, suppressing his surprise, 
followed her into the room. Prudence, her 
fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting 
his steadily, took up a position by the side 
of her mother. 

"You have brought bad news?" inquired 
the latter. 

" No, mother," said Mr. Catesby, simply, 
"only myself, that's all" 

Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, 
and her daughter, watching hi in closely, tried 
to remember something she had once read 
about detecting insanity by the expression of 
the eyes. Those of Mr- Catesby were blue, 
and the only expression in them at the pre- 
sent moment was one of tender and respect- 
ful admiration. 

" When did you 
see Fred last?" in- 
quired Mrs- Truefitt t 
making another 

"Mother," said 
Mr. Catesby, with 
great pathos, "don't 
you know me? " 

"He has brought 
had news of Fred," 
said Mrs, Truefitt, 
turning to her daugh- 
ter ; "I am sure lie 

"I don't under- 
stand you," said Mr. 
Catesby, with a be- 
wildered glance from 
one to the other. " I 
am Fred. Am I 
much changed? You 
look the same as you 
always did, and it 
seems only yesterday 

since 1 kissed Prudence good-bye at the 
docks. You were crying, Prudence." 

Miss Truefitt made no reply ; she gazed at 
him unflinchingly and then bent towards htr 

* s He is mad," she whispered j u we must try 
and get him out quietly. Don't contradict 

" Keep close to me," said Mrs. Truefitt, 
who bad a great horror of the insane. "If 
he turns violent open the window and scream. 
I thought he had brought bad news of Fred 
How did he know about him ?" 

Her daughter shook her head and gazed 
curiously at their afflicted visitor. She put 
his age down at twenty- five, and she could 
not help thinking it a pity that so good 
looking a young man should have lost his 

£1 Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks," 
continued Mr. Catesby, dreamily. "You 
drew me behind a pile of luggage, Prudence, 
and put your head on my shoulder. I have 
thought of it ever since/' 

Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit 
her lips, and shot a sharp glance at him. 
She began to think that her pity was 

"Tell me all that's happened since I've 
been away," said Mr. 
Catesby. ,^ 

Mrs. Truefitt turned 
to her daughter and 

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Original from 



whispered. It might have been merely the 
effect of a guilty conscience, but the visitor 
thought that he caught the word "police- 

" I'm just going as far as the corner," said 
Mrs. Truefitt, rising, and crossing hastily to 
the door. 

The young man nodded affectionately and 
sat in doubtful consideration as the front- 
door closed behind her. "Where is mother 
going ? " he asked, in a voice which betrayed 
a little pardonable anxiety. 

" Not far, I hope," said Prudence 

" I really think," said Mr. Catesby, rising — 
" 1 really think that I had better go after her. 
At her age " 

He walked into the small passage and put 
his hand on the latch. Prudence, now quite 
certain of his sanity, felt sorely reluctant to 
let such impudence go unpunished. 

" Are you going ? " she inquired. 

"I think I'd better," said Mr. Catesby, 
gravely. " Dear mother " 

" You're afraid," said the girl, calmly. 

Mr. Catesby coloured and his buoyancy 
failed him. He felt a little bit cheap. 

" You are brave enough with two women," 
continued the girl, disdainfully ; " but you 
had better go if you're afraid." 

Mr. Catesby regarded the temptress un- 
easily. "Would you like me to stay?" he 

" I ? " said Miss Truefitt, tossing her head. 
"No, I don't want you. Besides, you're 

Mr. Catesby turned, and with a firm step 
made his way back to the room ; Prudence, 
with a half-smile, took a chair near the door 
and regarded her prisoner with unholy 

" I shouldn't like to be in your shoes," she 
said, agreeably ; " mother has gone for a 

" Bless her," said Mr. Catesby, fervently. 
" What had we better say to him when he 

"You'll be locked up," said Prudence; 
"and it will serve you right for your bad 

Mr. Catesby sighed. " It's the heart," he 
said, gravely. " I am not to blame, really. I 
saw you standing in the window, and I could 
see at once that you were beautiful, and 
good, and kind." 

" I never heard of such impudence," con- 
tinued Miss Truefitt. 

" I surprised myself," admitted Mr. 
Catesby. " In the usual way I am very 
quiet and well-behaved, not to say shy." 

Miss Truefitt looked at him scornfully. 
" I think that you had better stop your non- 
sense and go," she remarked. 

"Don't you want me to be punished?" 
inquired the other, in a soft voice. 

" I think that you had better go while you 
can," said the girl, and at that moment there 
was a heavy knock at the front-door. Mr. 
Catesby, despite his assurance, changed 
colour ; the girl eyed him in perplexity. 
Then she opened the small folding-doors at 
the back of the room. 

" You're only — stupid," she whispered. 
" Quick ! Go in there. I'll say you've gone. 
Keep quiet, and I'll let you out by-and-by." 

She pushed him in and closed the doors. 
From his hiding-place he heard an animated 
conversation at the street-door and minute 
particulars as to the time which had elapsed 
since his departure and the direction he had 

" I never heard such impudence," said 
Mrs. Truefitt, going into the front-room and 
sinking into a chair after the constable had 
taken his departure. " I don't believe he was 

" Only a little weak in the head, I think," 
said Prudence, in a clear voice. "He was 
very frightened after you had gone j I don't 
think he will trouble us again." 

"He'd better not," said Mrs. Truefitt, 
sharply. " I never heard of such a thing 
— never." 

She continued to grumble, while Prudence, 
in a low voice, endeavoured to soothe her. 
Her efforts were evidently successful, as the 
prisoner was, after a time, surprised to hear 
the older woman laugh— at first gently, and 
then with so much enjoyment that her 
daughter was at some pains to restrain her. 
He sat in patience until evening deepened 
into night, and a line of light beneath the 
folding-doors announced the lighting of the 
lamp in the front-room. By a pleasant 
clatter of crockery he became aware that they 
were at supper, and he pricked up his ears 
as Prudence made another reference to him. 

" If he comes to-mdrrow night while you 
are out I sha'n't open the door," she said. 
" You'll be back by nine, I suppose." 

Mrs. Truefitt assented. 

" And you won't be leaving before seven," 
continued Prudence. " I shall be all right." 

Mr. Catesby's face glowed and his eyes 
grew tender ; Prudence was as clever as she 
was beautiful. The delicacy with which she 
had intimated the fact of the unconscious 
Mrs. Truefitt's absence on the following 
evening was beyond all praise. The only 


■_| 1 1 I ■.! I I I '_' 




depressing thought was that such resource- 
fulness savoured of practice. 

He sat in the darkness for so long that 
even the proximity of Prudence was not 
sufficient amends for the monotony of it, 
and it was not until past ten o'clock that the 
folding- doors were opened and he stood 
blinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp. 

"Quick ! n she whispered, 

Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted 

i4 The front -door is open," whispered 
Prudence* " Make haste. I'll close it" 

She followed him to the door ; he made an 
ineffectual attempt to seize her hand, and the 
next moment was pushed gently outside and 
the door closed behind him. He stood a 
moment gazing at the house, and then 
hastened back to his ship, 

11 Seven to-morrow," he murmured ; " seven 
to-morrow. After all, there's nothing pays in 
this world like cheek — nothing," 

He slept soundly that night, though the 
things that the second-engineer said to him 
about wasting a hard-working man's evening 
would have lain heavy on the conscience of a 
more scrupulous man. The only thing that 
troubled him was the manifest intention of 
his friend not to let him slip through his 

fingers on the following evening. At last, in 
sheer despair at his inability to shake him off, 
he had to tell him that he had an appoint^ 
ment with a lady. 

" Well, I'll come, too/' said the other, 
glowering at him, "It's very like shell have 
a friend with her ; they generally do." 

" I'll run round and tell her/ 1 said Catesby, 
" I'd have arranged it before, only I thought 
you didn't care about that sort of thing. 1 ' 

11 Female society is softening," said the 
second -engineer. *' I'll go and put on a clean 

Catesby watched him into his cabin and 
then, though it still wanted an hour to seven, 
hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself 
in the private bar of the Beehive. 

He waited there until a quarter past seven, 
and then, adjusting his tie for about the tenth 
time that evening in the glass behind the 
bar, sallied out in the direction of No. 5. 

He knocked lightly, and waited. There 
was no response, and he knocked again. 
When the fourth knock brought no response, 
his heart sank within him and he indulged in 
vain speculations as to the reasons for this 
unexpected hitch in the programme. He 
knocked again, and then the door opened 
suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of 


Original from 



surprise and dismay, backed into the 

" You ! " she said, regarding him with large 

Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and passing 
in closed the door behind him. 

" I wanted to thank you for your kindness 
last night," he said, humbly. 

" Very well," said Prudence ; " good-bye." 

Mr. Catesby smiled. " It'll take me a long 
time to thank you as I ought to thank you," 
he murmured. " And then I want to 
apologize ; that'll take time, too." 

" You had better go," said Prudence, 
severely ; " kindness is thrown away upon 
you. I ought to have let you be punished." 

"You are too good and kind," said the 
other, drifting by easy stages into the parlour. 

Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following 
him into the room seated herself in an easy- 
chair and sat coldly watchful. 

" How do you know what I am?" she 

"Your face tells me," said the infatuated 
Richard. " I hope you will forgive me for 
my rudeness last night. It was all done on 
the spur of the moment." 

" I am glad you are sorry," said the girl, 

"All the same, if I hadn't done it," 
pursued Mr. Catesby, "I shouldn't be 
sitting here talking to you now." 

Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and 
then lowered them modestly to the ground. 
" That is true," she said, quietly. 

" And I would sooner be sitting here than 
anywhere," pursued Catesby. " That is," he 
added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, 
" except here." 

Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and 
made as though to rise. Then she sat still 
and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from 
the corner of her eye. 

" I hope that you are not sorry I am here ? " 
said that gentleman. 

Miss Truefitt hesitated. " No," she said, 
at last. 

11 Are you — are you glad ? " asked the 
modest Richard. 

Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. 
" Yes," she said, faintly. 

A strange feeling of solemnity came over 
the triumphant Richard. He took the hand 
nearest to him and pressed it gently. 

"I— I can hardly believe in my good 
luck," he murmured. 

"Good luck?" said Prudence, innocently. 

"Isn't it good luck to hear you say that 
you are glad I'm here ? " said Catesby. 

" You're the best judge of that," said the 
girl, withdrawing her hand. " It doesn't 
seem to me much to be pleased about." 

Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and 
was about to address another tender remark 
to her when she was overcome by a slight fit 
of coughing. At the same moment he 
started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in 
the* passage. Somebody tapped at the door. 

" Yes ? " said Prudence. 

"Can't find the knife-powder, miss," said a 
harsh voice. The door was pushed open 
and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about 
forty. Her red arms were bare to the elbow, 
and she betrayed several evidences of a long 
and arduous day's charing. 

" It's in the cupboard," said Prudence. 
"Why, what's the matter, Mrs. Porter?" 

Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth 
was wide open and she was gazing with 
starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby. 

"Joe/" she said, in a hoarse whisper. "Joel" 

Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling 
silence. Miss Truefitt, with an air of great 
surprise, glanced from one to the other. 

"Joe!" said Mrs. Porter again. "Ain't 
you goin' to speak to me? " 

Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her 
in speechless astonishment She skipped 
clumsily round the table and stood before 
him with her hands clasped. 

" Where 'ave you been all this long time ? " 
she demanded, in a higher key. 

" You — you've made a mistake," said the 
bewildered Richard. 

" Mistake ? " wailed Mrs. Porter. " Mis- 
take ! Oh, where's your 'art ? " 

Before he could get out of her way 
she flung her arms round the horrified 
young man's neck and embraced him 
copiously. Over her bony left shoulder the 
frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss 
Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realized the trap 
into which he had fallen. 

" Mrs. Porter / " said Prudence. 

" It's my 'usband, miss," said the Amazon, 
reluctantly releasing the flushed and dis- 
hevelled Richard ; " 'e left me and my five 
eighteen months ago. For eighteen months 
I 'aven't 'ad a sight of 'is blessed face." 

She lifted the hem of her apron to her 
face and broke into discordant weeping. 

" Don't cry," said Prudence, softly ; " I'm 
sure he isn't worth it." 

Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He 
was heyond further astonishment, and when 
Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laud- 
able attempt to twist her features into an 
expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her. 

by t^ 



■_i 1 1 1 ti 1 M .' 1 1 1 




" It's my Joe," said Mrs. Porter, simply, 

" (Jood gracious!" said Mrs. Truefitt. 
"Well, you've got him now; take care he 
doesn't run away from you again." 

11 I'll look after that, ma'am," said Mrs. 
Porter, with a glare at the startled Richard. 

" She's very forgiving," said Prudence. 
"She kissed him just now." 

" Did she, though/ 1 said the admiring Mrs. 
Truefitt. "I wish I'd been here." 

, win. _QWE.>J 1 

" l'l.L LOOK APi-1-.'K THAT t MA'AM." 

M I can do it agin, ma'am," said the 
obliging Mrs. Porter, 

" If you come near me again " said 

the breathless Richard, stepping back a pace, 
" I shouldn't force his love/' said Mrs. 
Truefitt; "it'll come back in time, 1 dare 

" I'm sure he's affectionate/' said Prudence- 
Mr. Gates by eyed his tormentors in silence ; 
the faces of Prudence and her mother be- 
tokened much innocent enjoyment, but the 
austerity of Mrs, Porter's visage was un- 

" Better let bygones be bygones/' said Mrs. 
Truefitt ; " he'll be sorry by-and-by for all the 
trouble he has caused." 

11 He'll be ashamed of himself— if you give 
him time/' added Prudence. 

Mr, Catesby had heard enough; he took 
up his hat and crossed to the door. 

"Take care he doesn't run away from you 
again/' repeated Mrs, Truefitt. 

11 I'll see to that, ma'am," said Mrs. 
Porter, taking him by the arm. s£ Come along, 

Mr* Catesby attempted to shake her off, 
but in vain, and he ground his teeth as he 

realized the absurd- 
ity of his position. 
A man he could 
have dealt with, 
but Mrs. Porter 
was invulnerable* 
Sooner than walk 
down the road with 
her he preferred 
the sallies of the 
parlour* He walked 
bick to his old 
position by the 
fireplace, and stood 
gazing moodily at 
the floor* 

Mrs. Truefitt 
tired of the sport 
at last* She wanted 
her supper, and 
with a significant 
glance at her 
daughter she beck- 
oned the redoubt- 
able and reluctant 
Mrs* Porter from 
the room* Catesby 
heard the kitchen- 
door close behind 
them, but he 
made no move* Prudence stood gazing at 
him in silence. 

" If you want to go," she said, at last, 
" now is your chance*" 

Catesby followed her into the passage 
without a word, and waited quietly while she 
opened the door. Still silent, he put on his 
hat and passed out into the darkening street. 
He turned after a short distance for a last 
look at the house and, with a sudden sense 
of elation, saw that she was standing on the 
step. He hesitated, and then walked slowly 

" Yes ? 1J said Prudence. 
" I should like to tell your mother that I 
am sorry/' he said, in a low voice. 

"It is getting late/' said the girl, softly ; 
"but, if you really wish to tell her— Mrs. 
Porter will not be here to-morrow night." 

She stepped back into the house and the 
door closed behind her. 

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Original from 


By E. D. Cuming and 

J. A. Shepherd. 


ridge Shooting begins." The 
methods of the partridge have 
changed since the reaping 
machine and sowing drill came 
into fashion ; in the old days of long and 
ragged stubble and irregularly growing 
turnips he could not run, so waited till he 
felt bound to rise on the wing. Nowadays 
he sees the shooting party approach and 
puts his best 
foot foremost 
down the 
straight fur- 
rows between 
the turnips or 
across the 
closely shaven 
There be 
those who say 
our bird has 
learned the 
trick of run- 
ning from the 
French part- 
ridge, the oft- 
tized red-leg, 
which is pos- 
sible : — 

r Ah, non ! fellow-sportsbird, monfrhe de la chassis 
If you shall permeet, 1 shall say of few things 

That shall prove you how partritch is — how yuu 
say ? — ass 
What fly from the chasseur away on the wings. 

It is so much l>ettaire to ron through the crop, 

Ron most queek on yours legs ! Now I go to tell 
why : 

The Francais say always "I shoot ven he stop," 
And the Anglais say always " I shoot ven he fly." 

It must be allowed that there is weight in 



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Original from 




the argument : anyhow, the French bird often 
does our partridge a good turn ; he rushes 
by and so gives him timely warning to be off, 

On the moors by this time grouse-driving 
has begun, to the indignation of the old 
cocks. Those discreet patriarchs, hearing 
men advance, take it for granted safety lies 
in prompt flight, and discover when too late 
that this time the approaching humans were 
harmless, and death comes from the turf 
butts over which they are being driven. The 
slaughter of old cocks is very necessary, 
because the jealous senior will not allow a 
young cock to take up his quarters within 
five hundred yards of him if he can help it ; 
he knows what those young fellows are, and 
won't have them hanging about the premises. 
Hence, unless the tough old cocks are killed 
off, the desirable youngsters bred on your 
moor betake themselves to your neighbour's. 

The young cuckoos become conscious of a 
strange craving to be up and flying south ; 
the hedge-sparrow foster-parents cannot help 
them ; as well might the village labourer's 
son seek advice from his father concerning 
emigration to Brazil. We are as far as ever 
from knowing how the untravelled young 
birds find their way to winter quarters. " It's 

instinct," we say, contentedly. .Useful word 
" instinct." The fly-catchers mark the decrease 
in insect supplies and go : the nightjar and 
wryneck go, too. Where? Well, take the 
flycatcher, u In winter," says Mr. Howard 
Saunders, one of our soundest authorities, 
"it visits India, Arabia, and Africa to Cape 
Colony." Merely pausing to point out that 
the eminent authority does not mean that each 
individual takes a Cook's circular tour ticket, 
we may say it is probable that the birds, 
broadly speaking, go to the most accessible 
warm climate. There is no reason why fly- 
catchers, which summer in England, should 
winter in India ; travelling expenses are 
nothing to them, of course; but, on the other 
hand, taking no interest in Indian scenery, 
history, or social questions, they may just as 
well go to Africa, which is the nearest country 
with a respectable winter climate. It is about 
this time that the kingfishers harden their hearts 
and banish their children. The kingfisher 
thinks that prince-fishers— if we may call them 
so—cannot learn habits of self-reliance too 


Vol. xii v.— 34t 


Original from 

3 y Google 




early in life, also he will brook no rivals near 
his throne, so the family is scattered up stream 
and down with paternal blessings, which 
sound remarkably like imprecations, each 
member receiving assurances of his or her 
parents' undying affection, and promises of 
condign punishment if they dare come 
back. The children seem to have more 
faith, in the latter ; at all events, they stay 

The oyster season is begun again. The 
oyster gets three months' holiday by law and 
a fourth by custom. They ought to have 
more; prolific to prodigality, oysters are 
reckless parents, dismissing their spawn or 
"spat" to the mercy of every fish that 
passes. The authorities are not agreed 
concerning the 
dimensions of 
the oyster's 
original family, 
but apparently 
a million, more 
or less, are of 
no great ac- 
count. Few of 
the spat ever 
begi n 1 ife in 
earnest, much 
less find their 
childish shells 
safely ensconced 
on the peaceful, 
but treacherous, 
ened oyster- 
bed. When 
oysters come in 
crabs go out 

11 I thought I'd call," began the cralx *' We heard 

you were in bed, 
And not expecting long lo live ; and as we're free 

Jrom dread 
Of crab-pots now, I came lo see — before the dredger 

Sobs eh-tked the crab* she stammered, of ** the sym* 

palhy of frk-nds," 

u Friends ! ,J shrieked the oyster, starting up* 

" There's not in all the sea 
A fish that swims, or sinks, or crawls, that is a friend 

to me. 
Fish never spared a child of mine, I know of only five 
Who grew to ad alt oyster hood— and men ate those alive. 

Give us ten years of Ashless pe;ice secure from all our foes, 
And what d + you think would happen then?'* The 

crab said, " Goodness knows* " 
** I'll tell you," said the oyster, and she took her, 

Little slate, 
And sucked a stumpy pencil as she tried to calculate, 


by Google 


NtAdCSH&l mr OUT TO SEA." 

Original from 



"In ten years' time— if all grew up — I find that there 

would be 
Oysters enough to fill the earth, the rivers, Lakes, 

and sea. 
The shells would lie from Pole to Pole, a depth of 

fathoms three. 
Oh, would it not he glorious that oyster world to see ? " 
"Well, no," the thoughtful crab replied, "there 1 d 

be no room for me, 

The oyster did not overstate the case : the 
price of oysters may be a subject of regret, but 
statisticians are agreed that their unchecked 
multiplication is not to be desired unless they 
are to monopolize this planet. 

The mackerel, who have spent the 
summer on the coast, put out to sea ; they 

169S to permit him to be cried in the 
London streets on Sundays. 

The spinster glow-worm turns out her lamp, 
for the gentlemen are all married and dead, 
and economy forbids the waste of brightness 
on the empty air. The great bat or noctule, 
who, owing to his affection for the higher 
regions of the air, is thought rarer than is 
actually the case, comes down, folds himself 
up, and goes to bed till next April : seven or 
eight months 1 calm, refreshing sleep fortify 
him for the fatigues of five or four months' 
activity* The slim, secretive eel chooses a 
dark night and glides away down stream with 
as much caution as though eloping with a 


appear to be punctual in their movements as 
far as observations in Plymouth Sound reveal 
Pontopriddan has a terrible story to illustrate 
the turpitude of the mackerel : a shoal, he 
says, once surrounded a Norwegian sailor 
who was bathing ; by sheer weight of 
numbers they pushed him into deep water, 
and while they pushed bit him so severely 
that, though rescued, the poor man died from 
loss of blood. Without reflecting on the 
veracity of Pontopriddan or his informant, 
one feels it would be satisfactory to hear the 
mackerel's account of the affair. The 
mackerel goes bad very quickly; for which 
reason an Act of Parliament was passed in 

ward in Chancery. The authorities are 
divided concerning the subsequent proceed- 
ings of eels : whether Mrs, Eel lays five 
million or ten million eggs ; whether she 
lays them in the depths of the sea ; in the 
depths of estuarial mud ; dies after laying the 
eggs ; doesn't die afterwards — all these are 
subjects of debate. If an experienced family 
eel could be <:oaxed into the witness-box, 
several great minds would be set at rest : but 
theeel preserves an attitude of masterly reserve. 
The 15th of September brings repose to 
the otter, who has been hunted since the 
middle of April, and brings trouble lo the 
hare, Coursingciib^ilTOllpn this day, and 




some few packs of 
harriers begin hunt- 
ing within the next 
fortnight; most packs, 
however, postpone 
their opening day till 
about mid - October, 
if not till the ist of 

The rabbits are 
freed from nursery 
duties some time in 
Septem ber ; young 
ones have been found 
in November, but 
that was exception- 
ally late, and probably 
very mild weather 
tempted a particularly 
motherly rabbit to 
tempt fate with an 
untimely litter The 
harvest-mouse some- 
times produces a 
family as late as this, 
but others of the 
genus (saving always 

the house- mouse) have done with domestic 
affairs for the year 

The seals marry in September, In hot 
weather they spend much time in drowsy 
meditation on the rocks, and would spend 

tup; ottkh s repose. 

more in this harmless 
occupation if men 
would leave them 
alone. Fishermen say 
they appoint a sentry 
to keep a look-out 
before they settle 
down thus : there is 
nothing improbable 
in this, but the 
authorities accept the 
statement with re- 
serve, having re- 
marked that the 
members of a sleep- 
ing party look up 
from time to time. 
It may be that these 
wakeful seals are 
merely keeping an 
eye on the sentry : 
but this conjecture 
has not been received 
with approval by 
those who give natural 
history details the 
guinea - stamp that 
secures currency. Towards the end of 
the month the stag turns angrily to 
thoughts of love, and rambles over the hills 
all night bellowing ; some natures cannot 
love greatly without hating greatly, and of 

edby ^C 



Original from 




such is the disposition of the stag. He is 
spoiling for a fight, and thanks to his loud 
advertisement usually finds a friend to oblige, 
when the two engage in earnest. They fight 
to the death if need he, while the hinds 
stand by to see the end and fall into the 
train of the victor The stalking season ends 
during the first week in October, and for a 
month the deer are left undisturbed to fight 
and marry. The carrion crows are at this 
season prone to leave the moors, where 
perhaps more shooting is in progress than 
they care to encourage by their presence, and 
resort to the shores. Crows are fond of 
shell-fish, mussels particularly; and when the 
bird finds a mussel he can't open by ordinary 
means, he weighs the situation intelligently, 
soars aloft with the obstinate thing in his bill, 
and picking out a good hard rock drops it 
thereon, to descend smiling and eat it. 
Family parties of herons haunt the water- 
side : their manners are reposeful, but 
they mean business, for the birds of the 
year are learning the elements of the anglers' 
gentle craft : — 

Now bear in mind the rules you learned when you 

were taught your drill, 
That dinner, unlike victories, is won by standing 


Digiiiz&d by LiOOQ IC 

Open yuur eyes and shut your beak, pre lend that 

you are stuffed — 
And don't forget refraction's law ; that way are 

catches muffed. 

Your head between your shoulders sink ; the attitude 

is lent a 
Look of disarming dreaminess if on the gastric centre 

You rest your beak in readiness to make your down- 

waro stroke. 
When fishes come strike clean and hard ; it's slovenly 

to poke. 

And when you've got your fish he sure you gulp 

him down at once> 
Don^t trifle with him lest he drop and make you 

look a dunce ; 

IM not accept to drop my prey T so foolish I should 

An 18-carat gold-fish or a sterling silver eel. 

It must be said that the heron does not 
confine himself to fish dinners : he eats frogs* 
water-voles, and other dainties, not always 
choosing with discretion. Herons have been 
found dead, choked by water-voles which 
were several sizes too large for their throats. 

The starlings, always sociable, collect in 
flocks for the winter : these flocks resort 
regularly every night to the same place to 
roost ; there is one such starling roost in a 
plantation on Cramond Island, in the Firth 
of Forth, about a mile from the mouth of the 
River Almond, Not a bird builds there in 

spring, and 
not one is 
to be seen 
there in the 

but in the 
and winter 
even i ngs 
they come 
in thou- 
sands to 
pass the 
night. Why some 
species should assem- 
ble in hundreds or 
thousands for the 
season when food is 
scarcest is an open 
question : it may be 
for their greater 
security ; birds in a 
crowd are always 
warier than individ- 
uals, and bird foes are 
most active in the 
winter. Mr. H. A. 
Macpherson says that 
flocks of starlings 
! E*i^KA«ffiwjgi ia| fnspend the whole 





summer on the Cumberland salt-marshes; 
he believes these to be bachelors who 
come there to enjoy themselves in idle 
frivolity instead of marrying and bring- 
ing up families like respectable starlings. 
These bachelor flocks break up in October, 
no doubt to join oilier flocks. The wild duck 
begins to put on again the smart winter 
clothes he gave up wearing in spring, when 
he had seen his wife settled for the season, 
Blackgame "pack" about the end of the 
month. Mr. J. G. Millais says the old 
cocks and greyhens, or old 
cocks alone, make up par- 
ties by themselves, leaving 
the birds of the year to 
form assemblies with friends 
of their own age, and a very 
sensible plan too. The old 
greyhens do not always 
" pack " : they sometimes 
winter singly or in small 
parties. At this season 
blackgame find attractions 
on arable land during the 
day, resorting to the higher 
moors to sleep. The black- 
cocks have another tourna- 
ment of a somewhat per- 
functory kind in the autumn. 
There is no object in these 
exercises so far as man 
knows, but perhaps the 
birds merely want to keep 
their hands in, with a view 

to the real kk in the early spring. 
The grouse separate about mid- 
September, the cocks going off by 
themselves or in small parties, and 
the hens in coter- 
ies of from five to 

The emigration 
movements go on 
throughout Sept- 
ember : the corn- 
crake — pardon, 
landrail — not- 
withstanding his 
corpulence, gets 
under way about 
the end of the 
month. The Kal- 
mucks told J. 
F. Gmelin, the 
naturalist, that the 
southward - bound 
cranes carried 
each a corncrake 
on his back: just the sort of thing a fat corn- 
crake would enjoy if tire crane consented to 
fall in with his views. There is nothing im- 
probable in the story : a short eared owl was 
once seen to land on the Yorkshire coast carry* 
ing on its back a golden-crested wren, whom 
it had, no doubt, overtaken at sea wing- weary 
and exhausted, and had given a lift The North 
American Indians tell similar stories of such 
assistance lent by big birds to little ones. 
The ring-ousel goes- -the one representative 
of our thrushes who does not consider this 




.AH' OSf-^? 1 WONT YOU COME 1 
!lutfl^UialBWO»WClf FOR MR," 

; *" WF.1J., c;£KJI>BVB, 




country good enough for him in the winter, 
though there is reason to believe that some 
of our song-thrushes also go abroad. The 
redstart and willow-wren say good-bye, and 
the garden-warbler leaves about the end of 
the month : the garden-warbler goes as far 
as Cape Colony, but whether the birds found 
there come from England or some other 
part of Europe is not known. Birds' ideas 
of what constitutes an enjoyable climate 
differ : linnets who bring up their families in 
Scandinavia are satisfied to winter in the 
milder climate of England, and begin to 
come over to us in vast flocks about this 
time : those linnets who prefer to give their 
children the benefits of an English education 
collect in flocks, too, at this time and move 

more northerly latitudes ; the young golden 
plovers arrive in large flocks now, in advance 
of their parents, who remain to finish moult- 
ing, and haunt the sea-shores ; many, of 
course, go inland, but the bill of fare on the 
beach at low tide has great attractions. The 
ruff, formerly a fairly common bird in marshy 
districts, but now practically exterminated in 
England as a breeding species by drainage 
and collectors, comes to us after moulting. 
The cock does well to leave behind him the 
wonderful ruff whence he derives his name : 
his extravagant style of dress in the breeding 



southward — some go abroad, others do 
not. The golden-crested wrens, smallest of 
European birds, have a high opinion of this 
country as a winter resort : they come 
over from Norway and Sweden and else- 
where in countless thousands : continuous 
flocks extending right across England, St. 
George's Channel, into Ireland, have been 
recorded : the marvel is how such tiny birds 
can remain on the wing long enough to per- 
form such a journey : it is more than three 
hundred miles between the nearest points of 
the Norwegian and Scottish coasts, but many 
of these adventurous travellers disdain the 
risks of over-sea journeying, and swarms come 
straight to the Yorkshire and Lincolnshire 
sea- board, four hundred miles at least 
Judging from the numbers of birds of many 
species which perch to rest on the rigging of 
vessels in the North Sea, they often find the 
trip more exhausting than they expected : 
and as ships and obliging big birds are not 
always where they are wanted, the loss of life 
must be considerable. The golden plover 
breeds with us, but is far commoner in 

by \j 



season marked him out for slaughter. In- 
conspicuously attired like his wife he is 
tolerably safe. 

The dragon-flies render their last duty to 
their species and lay their eggs preparatory to 
dying. Some of the earlier kinds are dead 
already, but the large majority complete their 
allotted span of three months in September, 
and egg-laying is therefore general. Some 
dragon-flies are equipped with that neat 
instrument called an ovipositor, with which 
the owner can make holes in the leaf or stem 
of a water-plant to receive eggs : those who 
have not got an ovipositor drop their eggs 
casually into the water and trust to luck to 
look after them. The degree of confidence 
wild creatures repose in luck demands the 
attention of the Anti-Gambling League. The 
Death's Head moth, whom we saw last month 
in caterpillar guise retreating into the earth 
to become a chrysalis, emerges in its might. 
The moth's wings attain their full size — five 
inches across in some specimens — in a couple 
of hours ; it must be a dizzying sensation to 
grow at such a rate as that. The Death's 

■_| 1 1 I ■.! I I I '.' I 1 1 




Head is gifted above other moths : it has a 
voice — a weird and ghastly little squeak — 
which has been compared to that of a sick 
mouse. The insect presumes upon its 
size and accomplishments as a speaker to 
attack bee-hives and steal honey, which it 
does with impunity, as the bees are afraid of 
it We can hardly tax the bees with 
cowardice, for many among country people 
are afraid of the Death's Head, too ; the 
device on his thorax, the name he derives 
therefrom, and that unearthly voice, the more 
unearthly as coming from a moth, combine 
to render the Death's Head an object of 
superstition and dislike. The honey harvest 
is gathered in September. The principles of 
the bee deteriorate sadly at this season. 
Mr. Pettigrew says reproachfully that bees 
are thievish all the summer ; but in Sep- 
tember robbers are constantly prowling about, 

the winter than any other species ; they linger 
twittering for days as though sorry to go, as 
perhaps they are : — 

Good-bye ! Our pleasant stay is only ended 
Because the nights grow cold and flies grow few. 

We'll take your summer south and get it mended, 
And bring it back next spring as good as new. 

Last week that snap of frost showed something broken : 
You don't approve of summer stopping thus. 

Accept of our regard ior you a token, 

And leave the slight repairs required to us. 

Why, when in spring the birds go north in legions, 
Not beg them take your winter, wretched thing, 

And regulate it in the Arctic regions ? 

It now gets mixed with autumn and with spring. 

Young foxes have by this time discovered 
that life is not all chicken and rabbit ; 
hounds are cub-hunting and teaching those 
whom it most nearly concerns that safety 
lies in flight; the timorous cub who declines 
to learn this lesson and dodges about in 

•fortified fatness. 

and hive burglary and theft of honey are 
deplorably common. 

The invasion of this country by winter 
visitors is only beginning in September : on 
the other hand, the vast majority of the birds 
who do not mean to stay with us leave 
during the latter half of the month, more 
particularly if the weather is become cold 
and disagreeable. The sand-martins are 
gone, and though some of the house-martins 
are busy rearing a third brood they probably 
wish they had been content with two, and 
were free to join the daily increasing throngs 
of their fellows who, with the swallows, are 
collecting on telegraph wires and roofs pre- 
paratory to starting. Swallows and martins 
make a greater business about leaving for 

covert teaches hounds in his own person 
that fox-flesh is a thing of great desire. The 
ardent sportsman who said that if he saw 
a May fox killed and could begin cubbing 
in July he could worry through the rest 
of the year somehow did not ask much 
more than he can get in some countries. 
Given an early harvest there are packs which 
turn their attention to the cubs in August, 
but cub-hunting is not general until Septem- 
ber. The squirrels are enjoying feasts of 
beech-mast and other nuts ; and the dor- 
mouse, hedgehog, and other hibernating 
creatures are agreeably occupied in eating 
as much as they possibly can, that they 
may presently retire to bed in a state of 
fortified fatness. 

by Google 

Original from 


By Mrs, C. N. Williamson* 

was at dinner that the Horror 
first burst upon the guests of 
the Hotel d 1 Angleterre at 
M£tretat, in Brittany, 

The season of Metretat had 
only just begun, but already 
all the usual people were there ; for Metretat 
was different from other watering-places, and 
the Angleterre was different from other hotels. 
Both were exclusive t in the most esoteric 
sense of that abused term ; both were 
at this time of ihe year given up to the 
English. One of the leaders of a certain set 
which had a hereditary right to look down 
upon persons merely " smart " had ** dis- 
covered" Metretat some years before, and 
had discreetly confided its charms to a few of 
the brightest and best; consequently a colony 
of exactly the right people had practically 
annexed Metretat and the one hotel of the 
place. Rooms were engaged during one 
season for another, 50 that, if intrusive strangers 
dared try to break the charmed circle, the 
landlord was able to thwart the attempt by 
announcing that the house was full. 

To spend August and September at the 
Hotel d f Angleterre was like being a member 
of a big country-house party, for everybody 
knew everybody else, and most of the forty- 

VoL it 1 v.— 35. 

by Google 

five or fifty people called each other by their 
Christian names, or, still better, nicknames 
invented as a souvenir of some funny adven- 
ture, or to fit some pleasant little peculiarity. 
If strangers contrived to get in they were 
not really strangers, but guests, or, at least, 
friends of someone in the set; everyone 
knew all about them and (unless they were 
particularly amusing, in which case ancestors 
could be dispensed with) w T ho their great- 
grandfathers had been. 

There w T as nothing of the mushroom, 
nouveau richt element among the guests who 
came each summer to the little, old fashioned, 
sleepy village on the rocky coast of Brittany. 
There was no ostentation, no outshining one 
another in dress* The women wore short serge 
skirts and blouses or white piqu^ frocks till 
dinner-time, when they changed to the 
simplest possible gowns; and it was an 
unwritten law that there should be no 
jewellery, and no bodices revealing more 
than an inch of white skin below the collar- 
bone. As for the golfing or walking men, 
they lived in knickerbockers until sundown, 
while the boating and fishing men apparently 
valued their flannels according to their 

The season at the Hotel d' Angleterre had 
Original from 



been in full, comfortable, lazy swing for 
about a week in the sixth August of its 
possession by the British \ and, the dinner- 
gong having sounded, as usual, at eight 
o'clock one exquisite blue evening, the party 
had assembled. As it was a party of friends 
it was considered pleasant to have several 
tables, each capable of seating about a 
dozen. Thus the people who knew one 
another best could sit together, and when 
somebody at one table had anything to say 
to somebody at another he simply turned in 
his chair and called across the room. Conse- 
quently there was a great buzz and chatter ; 
but everybody seemed to know what every- 
body else was talking about, and all were 
interested in the same subjects. 

" What a shame Kit Vance should have 
got the flu ! " remarked Lord Strathallin 
(known as " Woodsey "), nodding at one of 
two unoccupied places at his table. " She 
and Tom will be a big loss ; they're both so 
ripping. Hope old Dupont won't be such a 
beast as to let their rooms to any bounding 

11 He wouldn't dare," Lady "Jack" Avery 
reassured him from across several candle-lit, 
flower-decked tables. 

At this instant the door of the dining-room 
opened, which it had no business to do, as 
everyone was in his or her proper place, and 
the soup was being taken away. There was 
a shrill rustle of new, rich silk linings, a 
luscious swish of heavy satin, a burst of 
white heliotrope scent, a tintinnabulation of 
many bangles, and a girl came into the room. 

So insistently was she heralded to shocked 
ears and nostrils that, instinctively, eyes 
turned for confirmation of the announce- 
ment, remained fixed upon the vision for a 
frozen second, then met one another under 
raised brows for a long, expressive gaze. 

Sudden, chill silence had fallen, and the 
waiters understood its meaning with awe 
which was half a fearful joy. None of 
their number envied the dignified head- 
waiter, whose duty it was to conduct the 
intruder to her seat. But he did it in a 
way worthy of a soldier of the Old Guard 
leading a forlorn hope ; while, thrillingly 
conscious of the effect she was creating, 
but completely misconstruing its cause, the 
girl sailed, joyously rustling and tinkling, up 
the room. The head-waiter advanced to one 
of the only two unoccupied places (those 
which should have been sacred to the 
memory of Sir Thomas Vance and Katherine 
his wife, unavoidably absent), and drew out 
the chair next to Lord Strathallin. 

by V_ 



The girl, with a hopeful, agreeably anti- 
cipating expression on her pretty face, sat 
down, unfolded and spread out her serviette 
with a coquettish flourish, then beamed 
about her with the friendly beginning of a 
smile. Nobody returned it. Nobody looked 
at her. It was as if the whole company, 
surprised into the vulgarity of a stare for 
a brief moment, had combined in the defen- 
sive system of ignoring the invasion. The 
murmur of pleasantly modulated voices had 
risen again, and continued with one accord 
as if there had been no interruption. There 
was talk of things that had happened at 
Cowes last week, before people had come on 
here ; gossip of news from those who pre- 
ferred Scotland even to dear little M^tretat ; 
chat of the day's events, golf and fish stories, 
with an undercurrent of croquet ; and ex- 
cited discussion concerning bridge, past, 
present, and to come, . 

The girl listened for a while, eating her 
dinner, glancing from face to face, dress to 
dress, taking in everything, and appearing 
radiantly satisfied still with herself and her 
surroundings; though occasionally, as fish 
gave place to roast, and roast to entree, a 
faintly puzzled expression lifted the charm- 
ingly pencilled dark eyebrows, which con- 
trasted so strikingly with the bright, gold- 
dusted brown of the wavy hair. 

Finally, when she had made due allowance 
for English stiffness to a stranger, which must 
be thawed by the sun of the stranger's smile, 
she could bear her splendid isolation no 
longer. She listened to the description of 
a glorious game of bridge, enthusiastically 
described across her to Jx>rd Strathallin by a 
pretty, youngish woman in a simple black 
dress. In a pause which this lady made for 
breath, the patient new-comer considered 
that her chance had arrived. 

4 * Is bridge an easy kind of game to 
learn ? " she cheerfully thrust into the open- 
ing. " I've heard such a lot of it, over in 
Denver. I'm an Amurrican." 

The woman in black trained a slow, very 
slow, gaze upon the speaker, permitting it to 
dwell upon the pink and white face for a 
moment, or rather to pass through it, as if 
it were an obstruction which hid a more 
attractive object beyond. "Really?" she 
remarked, and removed the gaze. 

The girl's complexion became more 
dazzlingly brilliant than before, thus, at all 
events, justifying itself as a natural product. 
She swept a hasty glance around, received an 
impression of other eyes, fixed and fish-like, 
noted with a spasm of hope that they were 
Original from 


*' \\\ ^N AMUKKICAN." 

women's, and then hurriedly turned towards 
I^ord Strathallin as if— being a man -he 
might be looked upon as a port to be sought 
in storm, 

" My goodness ! n she exclaimed in a half 
whisper, accompanied by a winning appeal 
from under long lashes, " is that lady snub- 
bing me, do you suppose ? " 

As it happened, the lady in the plain black 
dress was a bright, particular star in that set 
which came to M£tretat each year to enjoy 
its own exclusive society. Why this high 
place had been accorded her, nobody knew 
precisely, for she was neither beautiful, titled, 
rich, nor superlatively agreeable. But she 
did and said things in an original way, and 
somehow she had made herself indispensable. 
Lord Strathallin had just been admitted to 
her friendship, and he had no mind to 
sacrifice it for a strange young person who, 
on her entrance to the room, had been 
audibly christened a 
Llynn-Gryffyth. The 
pretty, though the worst possible form, and 
if he had been addressed by her when no 
eyes were there to see he would have 
answered with a certain pleasure. As it was, 

"Horror" by Mrs. 
girl was incredibly 

however, he knew what 
his country expected of 
him, and would not dis- 
appoint it. 

He looked at the girl, 
whose accent had pro- 
claimed her (l Amur- 
rican " before her words 
confessed it. He looked 
at the diamond butter- 
fly perched on high 
above yellow-brown 
masses of hair ; at the 
necklace of large, 
glistening pearls twined 
round her firm young 
throat, and falling in a 
second strand to her 
slim waist j at the 
three or four quaintly- 
fashioned ornaments 
(one of which was a 
tiny American flag in 
diamonds, rubies, and 
sapphires) scintillating 
among the laces on her 
girlish bosom ; at the 
low-cut bodice of her 
peach - blossom satin 
dress \ looking not in 
ostentatious disa ppro- 
val, but with a finely- 
marked* critical indifference, "I beg your 
pardon," he said ; 4I I don't think I quite know 
what you mean," 

The girl's question was not one to be 
repeated, with a tag of explanation attached, 
She blushed very red, and wriggled her pretty 
shoulders in a shrug which aimed at disdain, 
but indicated distress. "It doesn't matter 
at all," she retorted ; and gave herself up 
wholly to the green peas, which she eked out as 
a valuable screen for emotion, by eating one 
at a time, She had come last into the dining- 
room, but she was the first to leave it, sweep- 
ing from the room, with her head very high ; 
and, when a waiter had closed the door behind 
her, contemptuously amused glances were 
exchanged. She was a vulgar little horror, 
that was clear. Pretty, oh, yes, in a mere- 
tricious way, but quite too terrible ; covered 
with jewels like an idol ; altogether distinctly 
a creature, and to be frowned relentlessly 
down. If one were even civil in a weak 
moment, she was evidently the kind to take 
advantage; and if she were not to remain a 
flamboyant weed in this pleasant garden, she 
must be firmly discouraged from the first 
Indeed, it was monstrous that Dupont should 

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have taken her in ; he was well aware that 
this was not to be considered an ordinary 
hotel, and if he knew what was for his own 
good in the end he would not begin to fill 
up any chance vacancy with rank ouLsiden^ 
who would simply ruin everything and make 
Metrelat impossible to the very people who 
had annexed it. 

Everybody wondered whether the Horror 
had been sufficiently crushed to slink off in 
a proper state of annihilation lo her basely 
acquired quarters, or whether enough brazen 
impudence remained to carry her into the 
big, square hall, where the coterie elected 
to drink coffee after dinner. But the 
American flag is not easily to be torn from 
its standard by 
a foe, even in 
overwhelm ing 
numbers. In- 
domitably, defi- 
antly, it waved 
over the par- 
ticular sofa in 
the corner and 
the table adja- 
cent which had 
come to be 
looked upon as 
M rs. LI y nn - 
Gryffyth's pro- 

That corner — 
the pleasantest 
in the hall, and 
made beautiful 
by a tall Lamp 
with a ruffly, red 
silk shade, given 
to the hotel by 
Mrs, Llynn- 
(rryffyth — was 
promptly ta- 
booed. As if a 
river had been 
turned from hs 
normal course, 
the tide of 
evening frocks and dinner jackets flowed 
in one compact wave towards an opposite 
end of the hall, lam pi ess, but uncon- 
taminated. The pretty girl in pink satin 
sat remote, shimmering and scintillating 
like a jewel cast up by ihe sea on a desert 
island. She drank black coffee, and read (or 
seemed to read) a pa per- covered novel with 
absorbed interest ; and she " stuck it out," 
as somebody expressed it, at least until after 
the crowd had drifted elsewhere, to ping- 



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pong, to bridge, to billiards, or to dance in 
the large, bare music -room, according to 
taste and age. After that, no one knew or 
cared what became of her, since she had 
ceased to offend with her undesired and 
undesirable presence. 

Dicky Wickliam, or " Wicky Dick ham," as 
he was more often called, a mild, elderly 
bachelor who was popular because he always 
did what he was asked, and had also some 
very pretty little tricks, was told off by a 
couple of half-amused, half-annoyed girls to 
''tackle Dupont" and ask him why in the 
name of goodness, etc., etc. 

He was gone for twenty minutes, and then 
returned primed with information. Dupont 

appeared to be 
grieved, but not 
penitent. He 
had actually 
defended him- 
self, alleging 
that, after all, 
the Angleterru 
was an hotel, 
subject to the 
laws w h i c h 
govern other 
houses o£ public 
If he had rooms 
disengaged, he 
insisted that he 
could not turn 
customers away. 
He had even 
ventured to sug- 
gest that, if his 
patrons wished 
the whole hotel 
reserved for 
themselves and 
t h eir friends, 
they should club 
together and 
pay ' the price, 
with ftettswttt for 
any rooms 
which happened to be vacant. The be- 
nighted man had further — when healed 
by controversy— gone so far as to hint 
that, as most of his guests stipulated for 
reduced terms on account of long tenancy, 
his season was not really so profitable as if 
the hotel were filled with people who came 
and went. As fur the young person in 
question (Dupont had referred to her as a 
lady), she had arrived that afternoon with her 
maid, and had demanded a suite with two 
Original from 



bedrooms and a private sitting-room, for the 
remaining weeks of August. Such a suite 
Dupont had on his hands, owing to the 
detention in England of Sir Thomas and 
Lady Vance. In deference to the prejudice 
of his distinguished patrons against strangers 
and foreigners Dupont had named a very 
large price, which the young lady had agreed 
to pay without an instant's hesitation. She 
appeared to be comme il faut ; when she had 
written her name, " Miss Jenny Calmour," 
in the visitors' book she had remarked, as if 
by way of furnishing a reference, that her 
father was John Calmour, the " canned-soup 
man, you know." Dupont had vaguely 
associated the name and canned-soupiness 
with millions, and had felt himself justified 
as a landlord. This was the story which 
explained the apparition of the Horror ; 
and though all grumbled as with one voice, 
the more just-minded (these were men) re- 
luctantly pronounced that Dupont was within 
his rights, and unless the invader could be 
routed she must be endured. 

Thus the siege began. 

Miss Jenny Calmour, very pink as to the 
cheeks, defiantly bright as to the eyes, 
appeared in public in the most elaborate 
costumes, which she changed invariably three 
times a day, and she never wore the same 
one twice. Her hats were large, picturesque, 
and abundantly covered with drooping 
feathers or flowers ; her shoes were exceed- 
ingly small, pointed of toe and high of heel, 
and usually they matched her dress in colour. 
Yet nobody gave her a glance ; she might 
have been a ghost, invisible to the human 
eye, to be looked through^ never at Never- 
theless, the women knew what she had on, 
and knew that, if M£tretat had been Biarritz 
or Ostend and she had been a young 
Princess, everything would have been in 
good taste. But it was M&retat ; therefore 
everything was execrable, and the " boycott 
of American canned goods," as Jack Avery 
dubbed it, continued unabated. 

While all the world of the Hotel d'Angle- 
terre and the few villas owned by the right 
sort of people (there were no longer any 
others at M&retat) went bathing, golfing, 
walking, or boating, or played famous 
matches of croquet or tennis, Miss Jenny 
Calmour, exquisitely dressed and smelling 
of white heliotrope, picked her lonely way 
along the beach with a book in her hand, her 
haughtily erect little head shaded with a chiffon 
and lace parasol to match her frock, or took 
drives inland in the one landau which the 
modest watering-place possessed. At night, 



when the hotel rang with a merry confusion 
of laughter, ping-pong, the tinkle of music, 
and of feet that danced in time, Miss Jenny 
Calmour sat in the corner which had once 
been Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth's and was now hers, 
proudly introspective, or plunged in the 
inevitable Tauchnitz. 

In this manner passed seven golden August 
days, and if the American girl had opened 
her lips for any other purpose than eating or 
breathing, it had been only in intercourse 
with servants or tradespeople. One morning, 
while M^tretat bathed in a warm, blue sea 
under sparkling sunshine, she was seen 
(although nobody looked her way) to go to 
the village post - office, an expression of 
peculiar firmness graven on her dimpled 
chin. She wrote out a telegram in English 
and sent it. It was memorable at the post- 
office, because the mesnge covered two 
forms and cost i8frs. During the after- 
noon of the same day a petit bleu was 
handed to her while she was drinking tea 
on the otherwise deserted balcony. She 
brightened on reading it and put it in her 
pocket. That evening at dinner her appetite, 
which had failed somewhat of late, was 
observed by the waiter assigned to her table 
to have improved. 

The following morning she drove in her 
landau to the distant railway station, and 
Lord Strathallin (who saw her on his way to 
the links) wondered if she were going away, 
vanquished — luggage and maid to follow. 

But she had not turned her back on 
M^tretat ; she had merely met a train. 
From it stepped a big man, with crisply 
curling grey hair, a smooth-shaven red face, 
well-featured and shrewd, with the chin of 
Napoleon and the eye of a financier. He 
was tall beyond the common run of men, 
and the pronounced check of his travelling 
clothes made him loom even larger than he 
really was. He looked expectantly up and 
down the platform, and showed a set of 
teeth white and sound as hazel nuts when a 
pink muslin vision flashed into sight with a 
cry of " Poppa ! " 

The big man had with him for luggage 
only a bag, which he styled his "grip." He 
took his daughter cheerily by the arm, 
swinging the "grip " with his free hand ; and 
so they marched side by side to the waiting 

" I suppose we couldn't send this thing 
up to the hotel and walk, could we? I 
guess, though, you ain't dressed for a tramp?" 
said John Calmour, of tinned-soup tame. 

" Yes, but I am, poppa ; I'd just love to," 

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replied the gM And the landau went off 
with the "grip" on the back seat, looking 
like a very big nutshell with a very small 

Tbere was a short cut from the railway- 
station which diverged from the main road, 
passed the golf-links, and then dipped down 
to a path along the rocks that overhung tht 
sea. By the time that the father and 
daughter had talked about her telegram to 
him and his to her, his sudden journey from 
London (where he had been transacting 
important business), and the girl had thanked 
him at least a dozen times for making it, 
they had reached a rocky seat out of sight 
from everyone except fishermen and gulls* 

" Let's sit down and look around," said 
the big man. " This is kind of refreshing. 
Seems a nice place, Metretat." (He pro- 
nounced the last syllable to rhyme with 
"cat."} "I bet you sent for me in such a 
dickens of a hurry because I was tomfool 
enough to write that the London climate 
in August took it out of a fellow, and you 
wanted to get me here, eh ?" 

" I did want to get you here," admitted 
Jenny, digging the ferrule of her smart parasol 
into a hole in the rock. "But 
it wasn't only that. I guess I 
was homesick. It seemed to 
me, yesterday, that I should 
just have a fit if I couldn't 
see you right away, poppa." 

He threw a sudden, sharp 
glance at the downcast profile. 
Something in the tone of the 
girl's voice had struck him as 

" You're looking a hit peaked, 
Sissy," he said. "Ain't the air 
what it was cracked up to lie ? " 

*' Sissy" swallowed audibly, 
once, twice ; and the third 
attempt to dispose of a certain 
obstruction in the throat ended 
in a sob, Her little nose 
turned suddenly pink, and 
great round tears, like those 
shed by a child, came tumbling 
from between the long lashes. 

John Calmour's face grew 
three shades redder than before. 
* € Why, little gurl— why, little 
gurlie ! " he repeated, " Crying 1 
It must be something mighty 
bad to make you do that. I 
haven't seen you so much as 
pipe your eyes for a coon's age 
— not since you were ten, any- 

Digitized by ti OO 9 

how* What is it T my pretty? Tell the old 
man, and if there's anything he can do you 
can just count on him every time. Why, 
that's what he's for^ ain't it ? I guess you're 
the only thing he's got on this blessed earth, 
and lies bound to look after you." 

Jenny's hands covered her face, which 
showed flushed and moist, like a wet rose t 
between the slim fingers A big, red-brown 
hand was patting her Leghorn hat, in con- 
venient interstices among the nodding gar- 
denias ; and a vein was throbbing hard in 
each of John Calmour's temples. 

"Oh, poppa, I am a born idiot, but I — I 
— just can't kelp it," sobbed the girl who 
had held her head so high before the enemy, 
" I. had to send for you, 1 couldn't stand it 
any longer, here all alone. It's been awful. 
Fve been 'most ready to die; but I guess" — 
with a spasm of defiant pride — il nobody 
knows it" 

" For the land's sake, honey, tell your old 
dad what*s been the matter" 

" It's — it's the people," Jenny wept, 
with her cheek on his shoulder, much 
to the detriment of the hat. "They're 
wicked, cruel Beasts," 





John Calmour's jaw squared itself, inten- 
sifying a lurking suggestion that the bulldog 
phase had left a stronger impression than any 
of his other incarnations. " Oh, thafs it, is 
it ? " he growled. " It's the people. So 
they've been beasts to you, have they? 
Women jealous ? " 

" Not they," cried Jenny. " They despise 
me. They think I'm the dirt under their 

" Do they ? " said Calmour, in a quiet 
voice, which men knew when hundreds of 
thousands were hanging on a word of his. 
" Tell me all about it, pretty." 

Then Jenny told him. She began at the 
beginning and worked slowly up, punctuating 
with stifled sobs or pathetic little sniffs. 

" I thought it would be so lovely here," she 
said. " I read in a society paper, while I 
was with you at the Carlton in London, 
poppa, all about the Hotel d'Angleterre at 
M&retat, how ' unique ' it was (that's the 
paper's word), and the house full of people 
of the very tip-topest set in England. When 
you had to stay on, and told me I must take 
Josephine and go off somewhere to the 
country to amuse myself, it seemed as if 
M&retat would be just the right place. I 
thought it would be fun to know a lot of 
English lords and ladies, and I had whole 
heaps of pretty dresses and things to show 
off. I was sure I should have a nice time. 
The first night at dinner, when nobody spoke 
to me, and made fishes' eyes if they happened 
to look my way by mistake, I supposed that 
was English manners, and they were only 
shy and stiff till they knew me. But I soon 
found out that was a mistake ! Oh, poppa, 
I never was snubbed before, but I've had 
enough this one week to last me alL my life." 

"Why should they snub you?" queried 
Calmour, with a dangerous flickering of the 
nostrils, like a vicious horse. 

"Because I'm an Amurrican, for one 
thing, and because they all know each other 
and call each other l Mouse,' and ' Bat,' and 
every kind of queer nickname, even the quite 
old ones ; and they're just wild at having a 
strange girl among them. They love the 
Angleterre and think it belongs to them. 
They've been trying to freeze me out, poppa, 
as hard as they could, but I wouldn't give in, 
though all the time inside I've felt as sick as 
sick, and sometimes it was all I could do not 
to burst out crying and jump up from the 
table and run away. Not that I care a red 
cent for any of them ; it isn't that. Oh, I 
don't know exactly what it is ; but it's the 
awfullest experience I ever had, feeling that 

by V_iOOgle 

they thought — because I was different from 
them, somehow, and here all alone without 
any momma, like the other girls — that I 
was a horrid creature. I wouldn't hurt a fly, 
poppa, you know it ; and I don't want really 
to do them any harm ; but — but I should 
like to make them sorry." 

" Maybe you shall," said John Calmour. 
" You say they love this Angleterre hotel 
and think it belongs to 'em. I suppose it 
would be a blow to the lot if they were 
packed off?" 

" They'd be out of their wits with rage," 
said Jenny. 

" Well, we'll see," said her father. 

" Poppa, whatever do you mean ? I know 
by your face you've got a plan." 

Calmour whistled, and looked introspective 
for a moment. Then he said : " They want 
to chase you away, don't they ? What I 
mean is, that you're going to chase them 

It was luncheon time at the Hotel 
d'Angle* rre when Miss Calmour returned 
with her lather, and the two had that meal 
served in her private sitting-room. Soon 
after, John Calmour, large, calm, and smoking 
a cigar, strolled into the bureau where sat 
the landlord, M. Dupont, a shrewd, some- 
what melancholy little Breton. The American 
had made no inquiries yet regarding accom- 
modation for the night, but M. Dupont 
had one or two unoccupied bedrooms, and 
intended, if the millionaire wished to stay, to 
make him comfortable. The little man had 
a suitable respect for millionaires, and he 
rose as the large figure in checked flannel 
lounged through the doorway. 

Both said good-day in English, upon 
which language M. Dupont prided himself, 
riot without cause. Then the Breton waited 
deferentially for the expected request for a 
room ; or perhaps he prepared to shed 
reproaches with a responsibility-disclaiming 
though regretful shrug, in case Mr. Calmour 
brought up the subject of the boycott. 

Having puffed in silence at his cigar for a 
long moment, the big man's steel-grey eyes 
caught those of the landlord as if they 
pounced upon a prey. " How much will you 
take for this hotel, cash down on the nail ? " 
he abruptly demanded, in his pleasant, 
though slightly nasal, voice. 

" I beg monsieur's pardon," returned the 
Breton, not sure whether he had understood, 
or whether the American were joking. 

" I'm making you an offer for this hotel," 
went on John Calmour. " I want to buy it." 




" But, monsieur, it is not for sale." 

" My experience has been, as a business 
man, that most things are for sale if the 
price runs up high enough. Now, I want 
your hotel, and when I want a thing I'm 
willing to pay for it. I've calculated that for 
the place as it stands, with the goodwill, you 
might expect to get, say, about i25,ooodols. 
You can have, my cheque for that sum, 
mounseer, as quick as I can write it, if you 
are on to make the deal." 

Dupont fairly gasped, but he was suffi- 
ciently master of his faculties to do a rapid 
sum in mental arithmetic. A hundred 
and twenty-five thousand American dollars 
bounded up to a gobdly. amount when con- 
verted into francs. But, then, he had never 
heard of business being done by lightning. 

" I thapk you, monsieur," he said. "It is 
something to reflect upon." 

" That's where you're wrong, sir," returned 
John Calmour. "It's to take or to leave. 
The hotel's no use to me unless I can have 
it two hours before dinner to-night, because 
there'd be some little arrangements to 

The Breton started. " Mon Dieu, but it 
is impossible ! " 

"No, it ain't, if you look at it calmly. 
There's lots of time. I'll give you twenty 
minutes to decide, if necessary; but I'd 
sooner have it fixed up at once. That's my 
way of doing business, and it's panned out 
pretty well so far as I've gone. See here ; 
to pay for the extra inconvenience to you, 
mounseer, I don't mind throwing in another 

Poor Dupont clutched at his damp fore- 
head with his damp fingers. " If you please, 
monsieur, I will take the twenty minutes," he 

" I thought you were going to say you'd 
take the money. But all right ; I'll just sit 
here and finish my cigar while you make up 
your mind." 

The Breton sank into his chair at the desk. 
Calmour also sat down, crossed his legs, and 
watched the smoke - rings, which he made 
very successfully — as he did most things. 

Never had Dupont been obliged to think 
so quickly ; but he collected his forces like 
a general surprised in the night 

His season, he reminded himself, existed 
(on paper) from June till October. The 
place, however, scarcely paid expenses till 
July. Even then custom was but casual and 
uncertain until early August, when the 
English came. After that time the hotel 
was practically full through September ; but, 

by K: 



qs he had assured Mr. Wicktram the other 
night, the long-staying patrons paid the 
least If he made 2o,ooofrs. profit in a 
year he was lucky ; sometimes he made less ; 
and the work was wearing. He was past 
middle age and it would be agreeable to 
retire. Here was the chance for which, in 
bad hours, he had ardently wished. It might 
never come again ; and this mad mil- 
lionaire's offer was far more than he would 
have expected to get had he thought of 
selling out. But, then, the suddenness ! 

" My guests, monsieur ! " he exclaimed, 
aloud. " How could I explain " 

" Don't worry about that 77/ explain. 
I don't mean to turn the folks out All 
you've got to do is to say ' Done ' and 
pocket my cheque. You can wire to my 
bankers in London, if you want, and make 
sure I'm the man I pretend to be. Then 
you can pack up your baggage at your own 
convenience, and go on a spree to Paris, if 
it suits you. You look kind of tired, as if a 
vacation would do you good." 

When the twenty minutes were up John 
Calmour had out his cheque-book. 

That evening there was a more elaborate 
dinner than usual, and, for some reason, 
champagne was served to everybody. No 
one understood why this was, but when the 
waiters intimated that the wine was free 
nearly everybody drank it, to the extent of 
several glasses each. 

Nothing else of an unusual nature had 
occurred, so far as was known in the hotel, 
except that there had been two new arrivals. 
One was the Horror's father, who, having 
brought no evening things in his "grip," 
disgusted the coterie by dining in his 
travelling clothes. The other was an 
exceedingly good-looking young man, for 
whom, by means of a little crowding at the 
table, room had been made next Mrs. Llynn- 
Gryflyth. Judging from the reception he met 
with, he must have known almost everybody 
in the hotel and have been liked by all. 
Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth and many others called 
him Bill ; Dicky Wickham and a few others 
addressed him as Lord Everest; he looked a 
good deal at Jenny Calmour, pronounced 
the dinner excellent, the champagne a perfect 
marvel for an " hotel treat," and talked much 
with his intimates at the table of a cotillon 
which apparently he had come over from 
England to help make a success. The boy- 
cott of Jenny was extended to her father, and 
the two, in intervals between their own 
private murmurs, had plenty of time to 
Original from 


listen to the conversation, which concerned' 
favours for the coming cotillon ; the people 
who had been invited from the Metretat 
villas, and one or two other neighbouring 
watering-pLces where, it seemed, there really 
were a il fc*v human beings who would do, at 
a pinch, for a cotillon." 

When the fruit had come on (delicious 
little wild strawberries from somewhere in 
the north, at which novelty there was a 
general buzz of delight), John Calmour rose 
from his seat. Instead of leaving the 
table, as people who noticed his move sup- 
posed that he would do, he stood still in his 
place, coolly surveying the room, a hand on 
the back of his chair. 

41 Iiidies and gentlemen/' he begnn, in the 
loud voice of one about to call attention to 
the first words of a speech. 

Everyone looked up, astonished and re- 
sentful at the audacious interruption, " Is 
the man intoxicated?" Mrs. Llynn-Gryflyth 
was heard to ask tn a stage-whisper, 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he repeated* 
" I am glad to have gathered, from certain 
expressions I could not help hearing, that 

Mounseer Dupont, your late landlord. I 
dare say he won't forget to send them in. 
As regards the future, I must explain that 
an Amurrican is something like an Arab, 
Who eats his salt is sacred, no matter how 
badly they may have behaved before the salt 
went around. That being the case, I don't 
wish or intend to speak out my feelings about 
the way in which you English people, men 
and women, have treated a young girl placed 
by accident alone and unprotected in your 
midst. She wasn't good enough to associate 
with you when this was an hotel ; but now 
that it's her father's country house it is by her 
request that I invite you all to remain under 
my roof as my guests as long as you please/ 1 

He paused. Two or three men sprang up ; 
and there were murmurs of "No, no," 
"Absurd," " Impossible," all over the room* 

John Calmour gave them a moment, then, 
when he received no more definite response, 
he began again* 

" I have invited you to stay as my guests," 
he repeated, "Those who choose to accept 
are welcome* Those who don't will no 
doubt think it delicate to move on some- 



the dinner and the champagne have met with 
your approval. This is a satisfaction to me, 
as I have to inform you that the Angleterre, 
as an hotel, ceased to exist at exactly a quarter 
past three this afternoon. It is now my 
private house, and you have been entertained 
at dinner as my guests. The meal will not 
be charged in your bills, which, by the way, 
up to the hour I mentioned, are payable to 

Vol, xxW. —36 

where else as soon as they can. While I hey 
remain in this house* I must remind them, 
they eat my bread, and I and my daughter 
are their host and hostess. Come, Jenny ; 
I've said all I've got to say. Let you and 
me go into the hall and have coffee, which 
will be ready for the others if they like to 

He gave his daughter an arm, and they 




went away together without a backward 

"B— y fove/" ejaculated somebody, it 
was never quite known who. But the ex- 
clamation gave relief. It broke the spell. 

" What's the tall party driving at ? " asked 
Lord Everest of the company in general ; 
and everybody began to tell the story at 
once, each one with a slightly different 
version. Yet the conclusion reached by all 
was identical. The Horror was the horror ; 
her father was a fiend ; and there was 
nothing to do save beat a retreat, immedi- 
ately and with such dignity as might be 
preserved in the scramble. But there was 
no disguising the fact that it was a blow — a 
heavy blow. It seemed almost too bad to be 
true, though it must be true, or that brute 
would not have dared his impudent harangue. 
To go — to be turned out, bag and baggage, 
at an hour's notice, from their own, very own 
private Eden, at the beginning of the 
season, with the weather perfect and their 
plans made — such charming plans, too! — 
and all because they had very properly 
shown this vulgar ruffian's daughter her 
place, and kept her in it. It was enough to 
drive one to manslaughter — for it wouldn't 
be murder. 

Everest listened intently to the jumble of 
explanation and execration ; then, when a 
few of his friends had paused for breath, he 
shocked the company by bursting into ribald - 

"Good old boy! I'm hanged if I don't 
respect the chap ! " he broke out. "If you 
want my opinion, he's served you all jolly 
well right; you deserve what you've got. 
And you've eaten his dinner ! Jove ! what 
^coup! It's Titanic. The man must have 
paid ^20,000 at least for his revenge. But 
I'll bet he doesn't grudge the money. Oh, 
these Yankees ! They're marvellous ! " 

Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth rose. "I think," she 
remarked, with dignity, " we should be wiser 
to go and see that our servants begin packing, 
rather than sit squabbling here. As for you, 
Bill, you are as bad as — as bad as a pro- 

" Wait a minute, everybody," said Everest. 
" Of course, I don't know what anybody else 
is going to do, but I've been invited to visit 
this amazing old Johnny, and I intend to 
accept his invitation. I expect to enjoy 
myself as well as I ever did in my life, and 
I shouldn't be surprised if the cotillon came 
off yet. Anyone else think of stopping on? 
Because, if so, when I go out into the hall 
for a chat with him, I may as well tell our 

host how many people there'll be in his 
house- party." 

" I'd rather die than stay," announced 
Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth. 

Lady "Jack" Avery laughed hysterically. 
"Bill's right," she giggled. "It will be a 
glorious lark, / never did anything to the 
girl. I'll stop as chaperon. She'll need 

"It's like losing an eye-tooth to give up 
the golf," sighed Dicky Wickham. 

"And the bathing," "And the fishing," 
came in murmurs from other quarters. 

" Let's take him at his word. It will 
be the joke of the century ! " exclaimed 

Everest turned and glanced at him, his 
brown, laughing face suddenly grave. " Look 
here, I'm responsible for the proposal," said 
he. " None of you would have thought of it 
if it hadn't been for me. I'm the only 
innocent one of the lot, therefore I'm the 
only man who can engineer the thing with 
decency. Those of you who are going in 
for this joke have got to give me their word 
to behave themselves afterwards as they 
would in a friend's house, or I'll be shot if 
I'll have anything to do with it." 

In five minutes Everest had three times 
five candidates and as many promises. 
Armed with these he went forth, while the 
banished ones slipped away, and John Cal- 
mour's fifteen future guests remained in the 
salle a manger to await the return of the 

He went out into the big hall. In the 
corner, under the red-shaded lamp, sat the 
master of the house — and the situation — his 
daughter by his side. Everest crossed to 
them with a smart, soldierly step. 

" Let me congratulate you, Mr. Calmour — 
on your house, you know," he said. " Awfully 
jolly house to stop in, and very good of you 
to ask us. I got here only to-night, just in 
time to dress for dinner. Will you introduce 
me to Miss Calmour? I'm Lord Everest — 
Bill, my friends call me, because people are 
always sending me such a lot, I suppose." 

Solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, 
which he did not remove from the young 
man's face, the millionaire formally intro- 
duced Lord Everest to his daughter Jenny. 
The girl looked up. Her martyrdom had 
not entirely destroyed her sense of humour, 
and she broke into a laugh. Everest laughed, 
too — a nice, friendly, young-sounding laugh. 

"I'm no end obliged to Mr. Calmour for 
asking me, you know," he said, drawing up a 
chair. " So arc we &!!> rfiough — er — some of 




us have engagements at Dinard to-morrow; 
but with fifteen or sixteen stopping on the 
house won't seem empty, will it? Is it true 
you are going to give a cotillon next week, 
Miss Calmour? I do hope it is, I heard 
so, and brought some rather pretty favours 
with me from Paris in the hope that you'd 
accept them from me. You will, won't you ? 
And — it's rather selfish, I'm afraid, to try 
and cut in before any other chap ; hut you're 
sure to be asked by a dozen men at least, 
and I shall lose my chance; May I lead the 
cotillon with you? " 

11 1 should love it," said Jenny, laughing 
and dimpling. u Can I, poppa?" 

(t I guess it will be all right," said Calm our 

So the great boycott ended and the 

great joke began. Right royally it was 

carried out on both sides. The cotillon was 
a huge success, and Jenny reigned among 
her guests like a young queen, People said 
that Everest's game had been clear from the 
first He would eventually propose to the 
girl because her faiher was a millionaire, and 
she would accept him because lie was an 
earl As to the facts, everybody was right ; 
but as to the motives, they were wrong. 
When Lord Everest proposed to Jenny 
Calmour, after four weeks of the queerest 
visit ever made, it was because he was very 
much in love with her, and thought her tho 
dearest as well as the prettiest little girl he 
had ever seen. She accepted him because, 
in her opinion, he was one of the two 
perfect men in the world ; and poppa was 
the other. 

by Google 

Original from 

With a Camera in a Keddah ; 

By John Swaffham. 

HERE are, I hope, not many 
people in England who have 
not read the story of Little 
Toomai, who was called 
Toomai of the Elephants, and 
of Rala Nag, the fighting 
elephant of the keddahs who had served ihe 
Government of India for forty -seven years 
after he was taken and trained, and of 
41 Machua Appa, who was so great that he 
had no other name but was just Machua 
Appa, chief of the native drivers in the 
keddahs of the Elephant Department of the 
Government of India." 

Once, long ago, men hunted elephants in 
India as now they hunt them in Africa, only 
the white man's powder and shot was not 
then in the hand of every native hunter, so 
that the elephant survives to this day, 
not in twos and threes as in Africa, but in 
dozens and in hundreds. In old times, also, 
the natives dug great pits, but because the 
elephant is a heavy beast he was often killed, 
more often still maimed by the fall. Hence 
the practice was not very general. 

However, it had a certain vogue, being 
the easiest and least risky way in which an 
unarmed man could take the greatest of 
beasts. If, too, you wished to have the dead 
body only, the drawbacks in the way of 
maiming or damage to the animal ceased to 
exist* Any possible danger in dealing with 
the enraged and trapped victim was obviated 
by planting a huge stake with a sharp point 
in the centre of your pit. Transfixed on 
this, his struggles soon caused such a flow of 
blood that he died without further bother. 

Tlie keddah system of driving a herd 
into a stockade and there impounding the 
live beasts is no new invention. The hunters 
have used it for hundreds of years, just as, 
only two centuries ago, the men of Athole 
used to make great drivings of the deer in 
the country where now are Eorest Lodge and 
Fcalar— the great moors which lie underCairn- 
toul and Beny-Gloe, in the heart of the 
Grampians, Here, on great occasions, the 
Duke used to organize drives. The deer 
were driven into a place fenced with high 
wattles and then dispatched at leisure. Simi- 

Fr&m a] 




3 8 5 

Ftttn a) 



larly, the hill Rajahs would hunt the elephant 
herds when they came down annually to the 
plain jungles ; but the matter was haphazard 
and go-as-you-please. Now, the sircar pre- 
serves the elephant so strictly that to kill 
him, unless he be a "rogue/ 1 involves a 
heavy fine, A whole department of Govern- 

ment has been organized with the one duty 
of taking him alive. This is the keddah 
service, and I would give you here a sketch 
of the working of a keddah. 

A whole book has been written on the 
subject — Sanderson's " Thirteen Years 
Among the Wild Beasts in India"— a book 


Frvm a Photo. 




curiously interesting for many reasons, not 
least because it shows how chance works to 
bring a man to the place for which* in the 
result, it must seem that he was created. In 
1864 Sanderson went out* a young man with 
no particular aptitudes, to grow coffee in 
Mysore*. Almost immediately the plant 
failed after its periodical manner, and the 
young man was at a loose end. After various 
changes of scene, and within nine years, he 
had successfully carried out his first keddah 
and was embarked on hts life's career. 

The principle of a keddah is somewhat 
like that of the old duck-decoys which used 

through a foolish curiousness, but because of 
the less futile, though nearly as imbecile, 
habit of crass superstition. Like the bird, 
he knows that man is his enemy. Vet when 
surrounded by a single ring of men he 
shrinks from the moral effort required to face 
it and break out. More, he knows himself 
in the toils, and the least use of reason would 
show him that to be surrounded and yet to 
have an easy path of escape left open aTe 
two incompatible things. Nevertheless, he 
takes the path of easy escape and finds him- 
self in the keddah. 

I may give you an illustration of this folly 

From a] 



to be so common in Norfolk and the Fen 
counties. Both are founded upon the 
curious foolishness of creatures which are, in 
many respects, among the wisest of created 
things. A duck comes into a decoy because 
he is incurably curious. He knows that a 
dog is his worst enemy, but seeing a dog 
jumping in and out between wicker screens 
arranged along the bank of a narrow channel, 
he at once swims up to see what manner 
of game the dog is playing. A net 
is dropped across the broad end of the 
(l funnel," and the duck's curiosity has cost 
him his life. An elephant is wiser than the 
duck: he is the wisest of all wild animals. 
Hence his troubles come upon him not 

on the part of " my lord.* When Sanderson 
Sahib was alive any elephant which broke 
lines was shot dead. Escaping servitude in 
life he found liberty with death. Sanderson 
passed away and his chief Hindu assistant 
stepped into his place. Like many, if not 
most, natives, this man has a superstitious 
dread of actually taking life. As a result 
elephants escaped and communicated their 
discoveries to the herds, who now con- 
tinually break away at the critical last 
moment Perhaps part of the decline 
may be due to the absence of the genius 
which Sanderson brought to his task, but 
that failure to maintain his shooting policy 
may be iiistf^'fibW'SiSbuntable for many 






fiascos is clearly shown by my story* In a 
keddah drive some few years since a huge 
tusker " broke out " and escaped Next year 
the same tusker was with the doomed herd t 
but now he did not break away. On the 
contrary, he led his fellows right towards 
the entrance of the stockade, but then the 
splendid intelligence of his race flashed out. 
Sluing right round in the gate entrance 

so that none could 


he faced the herd. 

Urged on by the cries and closing in of the 
beaters, his com pan ions came up one by one. 
But he never moved. The gate to which 
hundreds of beaters had driven their prey 
could be entered by none. All day he 
butted away his less sagacious comrades who 
desired to come into the trap, and at night 
he led the whole herd in a wild stampede 
for freedom. Nothing in all the world, not 
even a battery of heavy guns, could stop the 
stampede of a score and more elephants 
when the distance from start to the pale is 
only a few hundred yards. So the labour of 
months was wasted and a whole herd went 
free. Therefore there are now in those 
jungles three dozen and more of elephants 
who know the secret of the keddah path. 
No moral need be drawn. 

At certain seasons of the year the elephant 
herds leave the high hills to feed and find 
shelter in the lower jungle grounds. Thence 

by night they raid the village fields, but all day 
they lie hid in half impenetrable forest, These 
are the days devoted to their hunting, and for 
weeks before the necessary preparations have 
been begun, Now the trackers follow the 
herds, and while word comes down from 
time to time of a move here or a shift of 
ground there, the work at the place chosen 
for the keddah is pushed to feverish com- 
pletion. Hundreds of all but naked coolies 
are digging trenches* building great wattle 
fences of bamboo, barricading the streams 
which cross their lines, erecting the great 
drop -gates, building the inner "tying -up 
stockades," and setting up the tall crow's-nest 
look-outs, from which the drive shall be 
overlooked and the gate ropes cut at the 
great moment. True, the elephant could 
shiver the fences and tear down the bar- 
ricades, hut because he is the strongest of 
all the beasts of the forest he is also the most 
suspicious, A single thread of wire or 
a ditch covered over with rafts seems to 
him uncanny and suggestive of traps. 
Always, knowing his bulk, he will test 
the ground on which he is to tread if 
anything give him the least cause to 
fear lest it prove unstable. A ditch, then, 
may not be faced though death be at his 
heels ; a barricade of stakes with chains 
between md£v9'B|l f£9diftled at any cost* 



Indeed, almost any artificial obstacle will 
hold him, provided only it be Strong enough, 
for, though lie should not fear it, it has only 
to be higher than he can step across, and it 
becomes as good as a stcne wall. An 
elephant i* incapable of jumping anything, or 
of moving more than two of his feet off the 
ground at the same moment 

The groat circular enclosure goes right 
through the jungle, broken only where the 
drop -gates hang overhead in a screen of 
greenery and young fronds of the bamboo* 
At the far end from this entrance the ground 

endure, if necessary, leagues beyond need of 
thought. Suddenly there is a very present 
alarm, for the danger is here indeed. 

All round the jungle is lined with human 
figures; here, maybe, a matchlock sputters 
out noisy flame, everywhere there are cries 
and the beating of tom-toms. The great 
beasts are annoyed, frightened, but dignified* 
as befits their kingship of the jungle. With 
only a turn in direction the shuffle continues. 
Then slowly it appears that the enemy is 
only on three sides— the fourth is clear ! At 
this, if panic touched their hearts, apparent 

Jfadffl d] 



is, however, cleared. Here and there great 
stumps of trees stand up, and this part is 
fenced off— a keddah within the keddah, the 
" tying-up stockade. " 

Knowing that the jungle has been sur- 
rounded for some days hy anything up to an 
odd thousand of beaters whose only direction 
is to converge on thegate-end of the keddah, 
let us go back to the herd in the jungle. 
They have been uneasy for days ; why, exactly, 
it would be hard for them to tell. There was 
a breath of hidden danger in the free air. 
Now there is more than a hint, a something 
surely wrong* So the wise one leading the 
herd moves off at its shuffle, which looks so 
lazy and slow, but is indeed fast, and one to 

calm returns. They still move, but now 

The enemy does not press. By day, if you 
go too near, he makes much noise ; at night 
he has a circle of fires to fright you ; if truth 
were known, the fire dispels his own fears 
also. So for days, weeks perhaps, it may be 
more than a month, the hundreds of the 
beaters glide inward and the great beasts of 
the herd retreat before them. Use will 
sanction all things, and now, if they be 
not hustled, there is every chance of success 
to the hunters. Thus the crux comes, and 
suddenly the wisest of the hunted are aware 
of a new qjid silent. foe f one who never 
moves but is there always, green as the 




Fmtft nj 


I Photo. 

forest itself, built of the daily brim boo, but 
still a menace. Then the final order to 
close in is given. The immovable foe is in 
front, not quite understood, hut between its 
arms is yet the jungle, the undergrowth and 
the great trees of home. Behind the moving 
foe is a serried wall of shouting, tom-tom -ing 
fiends, and the herd flies into the gulf There 
is a narrow place where not more than two 
may walk abreast, and the leaders halt. But 
beyond, the fence leaps apart as hitherto it 
has narrowed. On, on, the herd presses 
from behind, and nervously, well knowing 
their folly, the leaders pass in* The rent 
stream in to the last. Then crash— axes 
have fallen on the sustaining ropes and the 
great gate plunges down. 

'My lords 51 are afraid in earnest, but the 
end has not yet begun, Only the gate has 
dropped and with it the curtain on Act I. 

In Act III. the elephant will go forth- 
that is, if he has not died of a broken heart — 
orderly though sullen, a servant of the sircar, 
and a bond-slave to the will of his mahout. 
But before that is Act IL, always a valley of 
tribulation, sometimes a tragedy of tragedies. 

When the elephant has passed into the 
keddah, partly beguiled, I should have said, 
by the enticements of certain traitorous rela- 
tions long since the servants of their masters' 
every order, a gate in the tying rp stockade 

Vol. xxW— 37 

opens, and the tame keddah elephants file in 
with their riders. Mostly these are females, 
but with them will be several tuskers, royal 
fighters and revelling in the fray. The 
science of man has added yet more to their 
brute strength, and now, if any of the wild 
herd is obstreperous, these great beasts will 
batter him to pitiful submission, granting no 
mercy except on absolute surrender, 

The herd which has been captured may 
be large or small ; say there are now three 
score or seventy animals impounded, all 
in a state of more or less alarm. In such a 
number there will not be abo\e five or six 
to give violent trouble, and these the trained 
keddah tuskers have pounded to submission. 
The most troublesome of all may probably 
be a cow with a calf According to her size 
and boisterousness, two to four tame elephants 
will " corner " hen On each are a driver and 
the keddah assistants with their huge ropes. 
When she is so jammed between the trained 
animals as to be unable to resist, a great 
noose will be slipped round her neck and 
made fast to a forest tree In front. Mean- 
while other hunters have slipped down the 
sterns of their mounts, and have roped her 
hind legs to the stumps of other trees. Her 
calf is noosed and dragged off by main force, 
kicking and .souealirag, .to a similar pillory 

hard Diversity of Michigan 



C* €\C\c%\i^ Original from 




Thus the business goes on f until all the 
herd is left rocking in impotent rage, bound 
fore and aft, straining and wrestling with the 
bonds, or glowering in angry despair. It is 
wild work and not without its risks, this 
binding of the herd. The ropers, running 
under their bellies and dodging their heavy 
tramplings, have need of all their nerve and 
skill. Sometimes the wisdom of their trained 
beasts alone saves them, as when a man 

flies to so gruesome a condition that only 
careful dressing with soothing ointments will 
save the sufferer's life- Occasionally one 
tears away the thick horny pad which is the 
elephant's foot, and a bullet brings merciful 

The elephant who yields shows his sub- 
mission in various ways* The one who 
covers his head with soil and dead leaves 
taken up in the trunk is pitifully human in 

Fnpwi a] 



flying before the onslaught of an enraged 
mother is suddenly whisked off his legs in 
the trunk of a keddah elephant, and finds 
his safety on the huge beast's neck. For it 
is a strange trait that in all the turmoil and 
fury of his despair the wild elephant has 
never been known to lift a trunk and tear the 
rider from the back of a tame animal. 

Naturally the work of binding all the herd 
is not complete in one nor yet in two days. 
When all are shackled and made fast the 
victims are left till exhaustion consequent on 
impotent rage, endless struggles, and tempo- 
rary starvation reduce them to the calm of 
surrender Yet it is not every one which will 
thus give way. Some will die of pure heart- 
break for very shame of their capture, 
Others chafe their huge legs into terrible 
sores, which are irritated with the sand and 

the appeal of his misery. At this period 
great heaps of fodder — perhaps their dearest 
luxury, green sugar-cane — are piled before 
the great beasts, whose appetites are never 
proof against the bribe. In his natural state 
the elephant's existence may he described as 
one long meal, and even if freshly tethered 
he will interrupt his frantic struggles for a 
mouthful, after which he at once returns to 
the interrupted effort to be free. For a 
member of his race to refuse food is an 
almost infallible sign of serious illness* As 
soon as the last individual of a herd has been 
tethered two men are allotted to care for 
and to tame him. In a very few days the 
victim allows himself to be handled, a girth 
of rope is passed round his middle, and his 
future driver climbs upon his back and head, 
Finally teth0ridjirt|<al fit-olEi elephants before 





Frtwrtfll BAMBOO FfcONDS- [Phntfr 

and behind, or, if still obstreperous, flanked 

on each side as well, the captives are drafted 

out of the keddah and hobbled in "the 

lines," where, side by side with the trained 

animals, they await further training. One of 

the first acts in this is perhaps the greatest 

conscious luxury 

in an elephant's 

whole life. Were 

he wild it would 

be the act of every 

evening, but now 

he has not been 

near water for 

weeks. In the 

natural state he 

has his daily bath, 

and it is this 

which is now re 

stored to him, 

despite the ropes 

which still bind 

him before and 

behind. Up and 

down goes his 

trunk, and the 

water sluices back 

and sides till he 

stands there knee- 

deep in the river, no more the dun-coloured 
animal of the dust and turmoil of the 
keddahs, but a huge, shining blackness. 

Two or three months after their capture 
the elephants march out in long lines, roped 
still, but each with his own mahout astride 





2 93 

his necL From the line as they go some 
are turned off here to the stud of a neigh- 
bouring Rajah, there some are sold at auction. 
Finally, the remnant comes to the railway, 
and special trucks scatter them all over the 

The value of a newly-tamed elephant 
varies from j£8o to 
j£2,ooo. Only the 
most magnificent 
beasts will fetch 
anything like the 
latter figure, which 
is based on the 
Oriental's love of 
display, Such an 
elephant is des- 
tined for the State 
procession of one 
of the great Rajahs. 
In one of his 
earliest keddahs 
Sanderson records 
a capture of six- 
teen bulls, thirty 
cows, three tusk 
less bulls, and 

and one cow grew 
unmanageable in 
the keddah and 
was shot. The 
cost of the opera- 
tions was ,£1,556, 
and a complete 
sale at market 
prices would have 
totalled to over 
,£6,500. Nowa- 
days, mainly for 
reasons stated 
before, the cap- 
tures are seldom 
so large. More- 
over, many 
attempts prove 
quite abortive. 
Thus, although 
the price of ele- 
phants has risen 
greatly, the ked- 
dah establishment 
of the (jovernment of India is glad to pay 
its way and little more, Nevertheless the 
captured animal breeds freely, and the wild 
herds are said to be regularly increasing. 
It may therefore be hoped that this battle 
of the giants will continue for many years 
to come. 



Original from 

The Lovable Miss Lingfield. 

By Winifred Graham. 

ORKING HALL was a de- 
lightful place to stay at. So 
thought Alice Lingfield, who 
dearly loved her friends, the 
Sutcliffes, while she revelled 
in the beauty of the quaint 
old house and its extensive grounds. 

The surrounding hills, the unlimited green 
of trees and pastures, making such a restful 
landscape to charm the eye, appealed forcibly 
to this town girl, whose soul delighted in 
simple joys, rural freedom, and the poetry of 
country scenes. 

Alice Lingfield seemed to attract affection 
to an almost embarrassing degree ; there was 
a brightness and fascination apart from her 
beauty which proved wholly irresistible. 

She had high spirits, she was popular, but, 
oh ! how tender and loving she could be with 
children ! The little brood of fair-haired 
girls at Dorking Hall simply worshipped the 
ground she trod on. 

They followed her about, they gathered 
round her knee, ever grouping themselves in 
her wake like bridesmaids to a white-robed 

Penelope, the eldest, a warm-hearted child 
of eight years old, who, the previous winter, 
had been heard to call herself "a hunting 
woman," was Alice Lingfield's special friend 
and admirer. The four smaller girls, ranging 
to a person aged three, toddled persistently 
after the lovable guest, receiving so much 
favour and encouragement that their fidelity 
could scarcely prove a matter of surprise. 

But to one heart alone these baby creatures 
brought bitterness and sorrow. 

Robert Macalister, commonly known as 
" Bob," found in those tiny tyrants enemies 
to his peace of mind. 

At Dorking Hall he had relied upon 
golden opportunities. In London, of course, 
his divinity was, naturally enough, surrounded 
by tiresome bees who hummed about the 
fairest flower of the season, basking in the 
honeyed sweetness of her frank, girlish smiles. 

The country at least should prove different, 
Bob had told himself when he joyfully 


accepted Mrs. Sutcliffe's invitation to Dork- 
ing Hall. Now he found that children were 
even more difficult to deal with than the 
hated rivals of ball-rooms. Penelope, slim, 
fairylike, and sensitive, could not possibly be 
snubbed — Bob's good nature would have 
revolted at the mere thought; while the 
bonny, picturesque little damsels, Hazel, 
Molly, Dolly, and Diana, made a quartette 
which overwhelmed even the strategy of a 
desperate, though shy, lover. 

The days at Dorking Hall were numbered; 
innumerable engagements would call Alice 
back to the gay town, and he would be no 
nearer — no nearer. The bright tone of the 
country grew clouded ; Bob's laughter had 
a forced note. 

Alice never found the children in the way. 
The sight of them, the touch of their little 
hands, and the music of their merry voices 
were a perpetual joy to her eyes, her ears, 
her senses. 

Even Bob, resentful as he felt, saw a 
certain wonder in it as he came upon Alice 
seated on a mossy bank surrounded by her 

" By Jove, they make a pretty picture ! " 
he said to himself, pausing unperceived by 
an old stone image. 

Alice, in her simple white dress, looked 
the very incarnation of young mother Spring, 
with tender shoots at her feet and in her 

There was a somewhat pensive expression 
in her eyes as they rested on the small flock 
of sunny-faced children. Dolly and Molly 
sprawled on the grass, a pair of chubby, 
freckled twins, with exquisite dimples and fat 
flaxen curls. Diana, the baby, nestled close 
to her, crumpling a daisy-chain which Hazel 
had been at great pains to make, while 
Penelope, standing erect, outshone her sisters 
in grace and beauty as a brilliant comet 
dwarfs the lesser stars. 

Penelope was speaking in her musical 
voice ; she had no idea that she was pretty, 
much less that her words bore all the mellow 
softness of a sweet-toned bell. 

" You see," y>hv said, " it's very awkward 




14 + isv jov*: f thev make a ratrtTV I'lCTURfii' he said/ 

for those poor children in London who have 
no clothes to wear> and never get anything to 
eat, about taking holidays in the country; 
They want a lot of money for trains, and 
carriages, and buns. lam going to try and 
help them ; that is why I have a. collecting 

** A very good idea," answered Alice, The 
conversation ceased as Bob's shadow fell 
across the path. He threw himself down at 
Alice's side, and began plucking at the grass 
in a nervous, irritable manner 

To be so near — and yet so far away — - 
within reach of her hand, but beyond the 
range of her keen sympathy, which settled in 
a great flood of loving warmth on the 
children at her knee, was more than flesh and 
blood could stand, 

"Don't they make you hot?" he said, 
as Hazel — lucky infant — dragged down 

Alice's pretty face and kissed her soft pink 

"Oh ! no," she laughed, rearing her grace- 
ful neck in its cool open collar of soft 
transparent lace; "It is my last day but one 
with these ducks of things* and I can't spare 
a minute of them ! I shall miss the country 
terribly, but I shall miss the children mure. 
Time enough to think of the heat when lam 
back in London." 

There was just the suspicion of a mis- 
chievous twinkle in Alice's eyes, which made 
her seem like a child herself for the moment* 
Bob only noticed the air of wonderful refine- 
ment and the perfect profile of this woman 
who held his heart. 

"You know," he continued, "it's the 
Derby to-morrow. Mrs. SutelifTe suggested 
that you and I should ride up to Epsom 
Downs and £et a bird's-eye view of the race.' 3 




" Delightful ! " said Alice ; " I should like 
nothing better. Penelope and I planned to 
go the evening I arrived ; you've been 
counting the days to it, haven't you, Pen ? " 

Bob's face fell. He ground his teeth with 
vexation. Far away on those heights he had 
resolved to tell her the truth, but again she 
carelessly tossed the golden ball of oppor- 
tunity far above his reach. 

** Isn't it a bit rough for Penelope?" he 
said, ruthlessly, casting a sidelong glance at 
the child, and feeling a twinge of conscience 
as he caught her expression of eager antici- 

Penelope answered the question quickly, 
with a little gasp. 

" I rode there last year on Billy, and he 
was quite, quite good ! " she persisted, 
flushing to her temples at the mere idea of 
being left behind. 

She had talked of this ride day after day 
to Alice, and dreamt at night of the wonder- 
ful race, the deafening cheers, the fluttering 
colours of the jockeys, the straining horses, 
the long green course. Surely, on Alice 
Lingfidd's last day, the cup of happiness 
must sparkle to its very brim ! Penelope 
felt a little shudder run through her at the 
thought of possible disappointment. 

Bob subsided and allowed his shoe-laces 
to be persistently untied and knotted by the 
twins, who found a strong fascination in shoe- 
gear, both when worn on the feet of guests 
or reposing under dressing- tables. 

He longed to know what was passing in 
Alice's mind. Was she thinking of him as 
she sat with her imperious little chin resting 
on her disengaged hand ? The other lay in 
Hazel's possession, who, it seemed to Bob, 
purposely tormented him by her unchecked 

He was envious and, therefore, bad- 
tempered. In reality her thoughts, as he 
half suspected, were with the little ones. 
The attitudes of delicious abandon so 
characteristic of childhood appealed to her 
artistic eye, and the freshness of these 
young lives brought a maternal thrill to the 
girl's soul, which she only faintly understood. 

If love were very near her at that 
moment, love of a deep and passionate 
nature, she was aware only of the tender 
flow of childish affection, which fanned her 
spirit like a cool breeze on a summer's day. 

But Bob sat plotting, with one eye on 

" It's merely a case for a bribe," he thought, 
and lightly jingled the coins in his pocket as 
an accompaniment to this soothing idea. 

" I do hope it will be fine to-morrow ! " said 
Penelope, as she looked out of the window 
last thing before going to bed, smiling up at 
the clear sky and bright stars. "You know," 
she continued, " it's the best day of the whole 
year; there are other races, but the Derby 
will be far the nicest, because I shall ride to 
see it with Miss Lingfield ! " 

She lay awake a long while thinking of 
Alice and her sweet ways, wondering if in 
the whole world there could be anyone else 
so beautiful and delightful, excepting, of 
course, Penelope's own mother, who, in a 
way, was a little bit like Miss Lingfield. 

At dawn the child crept out of bed, and 
laughed with glee to see the sun rising with a 
promise of bright things to come. 

Very early, before Hazel, Molly, Dolly, 
and Diana thought of opening an eyelid, 
Penelope scampered into her clothes and ran 
off to the garden. She felt like the lark, full 
of song, as she skipped over the dewy grass 
and trilled forth a cheery good-morning to 
the flowers. 

Someone else was restless too, and had 
come out early to breathe the air — someone 
who, like Penelope, gazed at the stars before 
going to bed and thought of Alice Lingfield. 

" Halloa ! " said a man's voice. " This is 
lucky. I wanted to see you." 

" Good-morning, Mr. Macalister," replied 
Penelope, holding out a small hand. 

She hardly knew why, but something in 
his tone filled her with a certain misgiving. 

" I wanted to see you ! " Why should he 
want to see her, unless, unless 

The words recurred to her mind suddenly : 
" Isn't it a bit rough for Penelope? " 

" We have a lovely day for our ride ! " she 
stammered, turning her flushed little face up 
to the sky. 

" Yes," he replied, "it's about the ride I've 
been thinking. I want you not to come, 
and — and I'll give you this if you will just 
say you don't care to go with us." 

He held out a very large, imposing coin, 
upon which Penelope fixed her eyes with an 
expression of horror. 

" How much is it ? " she asked, in a 
strangled tone. 

"Five shillings," he replied. "You can 
buy yourself a beautiful doll with that." 

A long, painful pause — the child turned 
strangely pale — a struggle seemed going on 
in her mind, for her lips twitched and her 
hands clenched convulsively. 

The man and the small girl faced each 
other, a certain breathless anxiety in their; 





attitudes. It meant 
much to both, the 
issue of this bargain. 

How many pen- 
nies are there in five 
shillings?" she asked 
a 1 hist, feeling in the 
pocket of her short cotton frock for a card, 
which she carried always now, in the hope of 
collecting stray pence for the poor children 
in need of cour.ry air. Each space, ticked 
off, represented a penny. She regarded the 
card with tear-dimmed eyes. 

u Sixty," he replied, not noticing her 

"Sixty!" She repeated the word with a 
gasp. It sealed her fate— like a dark door 
closing with a bang upon the Inoked-for hours 
of pleasure. Only the sacrifice of her own 
amusement, and those unhappy little mortals 
in the densely crowded cities would some of 
them he the better for a few hours* sunshine. 

Vol- miv.-W 


but I 

The bright beams playing on 
the flowers seemed defying her 
to refuse the proffered coin, 
while the very rays reflected 
their sparkle on the silver 
bribe ! Yet Penelope stood 
paralyzed, and her clenched 
hand still hung against her 

"It is Alice Lingfield's last 
day," sang the birds. "To- 
morrow she will be gone," 

But Penelope turned a deaf 
ear to these subtle twitterings, 
nor would she allow herself to 
listen to the call of the hills. 

With an effort she thrust 
from her mind the thought of 
that vast multitude on the 
usually silent downs. The 
swaying swings and rollicking 
merry-go-rounds viewed in the 
distance, the seething mass of 
mysterious humanity, held for 
the child unlimited enchant- 
ment 1 he wonder of it fired 
her imagination and produced 
intense excitement* 

She had described the scene 
to Alice in stirring words, 
firmly convinced that the sight 
would be as novel to Miss 
Lingfield as to herself. 

Penelope did not try to 
analyze his reasons for not 
wanting her, the petrifying fact 
was enough in itself, and then 
the heavy piece of money must 
be fairly gained. 

She moved a step nearer and 
let her trembling little fingers 
close over the five - shilling 

" I don't want a doll/ 1 she 
-I— shall use it for something 

As she spoke she quickly concealed the 
card, for fear he might guess the generous 
motives hidden behind her hall- whispered 

That "something else" meant sacrifice, 
denial, and the glorious light which can shine 
in the innocent eyes of a child may bring a 
certain matured nobility to the youngest 
features. Robert Mara lister sighed with 
relief— a smile broke over his face. He 
strolled away and began to whistle. 
Penelope walked slowly, very slowly, back 
to the house, biting her lips. 




Nobody knew what was the matter with 
the child, for Penelope did not want to go 
out riding — she appeared listless, weary, 
crushed. Alice felt quite worried about her 
as she rode away, since the little figure stood 
watching her go with such a pitiful droop of 
the shoulders and an expression as of quiet 
resignation to fate. 

Penelope even forgot to play with Hazel, 
Molly, Dolly, and Diana, who found the 
ruling spirit missing from their games. 

" Miss Lingfield will think I did not care 
to go with her— that is the worst part of all," 
Penelope told herself, as she roamed about 
the garden. " I could bear any disappoint- 
ment if only it had not hurt her. She 
looked back three times as she rode away 
with Mr. Macalister, and at each look I felt 
I must run and say why I was staying 

Penelope paused by the mossy bank where 
only yesterday they had discussed the ride. 
Now it looked strangely lonely without 
Alice's bright figure. 

The child, with a pang that cut deeply 
into her sensitive soul, stood silently trying 
for the first time to reason out the man's 
motive for his odd, inexplicable action. 

Her troubled reverie was broken by light 
footsteps. Mrs. Sutcliffe had come in search 
of her little daughter. 

11 Penelope," she said, drawing the slight 
figure to her side, " you have never had a 
secret frim me. Tell me, darling, what is 
on your mind? Do you imagine I can't see 
that you have been crying?" 

Gradually, with gentle words, Mrs. Sutcliffe 
drew the whole story from the child. As 
she listened an expression of great amuse- 
ment crept over her face. 

" Mother, why are you laughing ? I sup- 
pose you are glad about the sixty spaces 
being filled up on my card. You want the 
poor children to be happy. If I thought 
Miss Lingfield wasn't hurt and vexed I 
should laugh, too. When the horses came 
round she shook her head at me and called 
me a * deserter.' She thinks I don't love her 
any more. That was why I cried directly 
they were out of sight." 

"You can't understand, little woman," 
said Mrs. Sutcliffe ; " but your heart is in 
the right place. And you need not worry 
about Alice. You children have monopolized 
her terribly, all five of you, for the last few 
days, and, of course, you could not be ex- 
pected to see that someone else loved her 
too and was greedy enough to want her all 

to himself. If you were older you would 
know this naughty mother of yours has been 
a very cunning match maker." 

Mrs. Sutcliffe laughed again, imparting her 
merriment to Penelope, who, still not quite 
understanding, felt suddenly reconciled and 

The younger children, patrolling the 
grounds, joined their mother on the sunny 
bank, their favourite spot, and looking at 
them Mrs. Sutcliffe realized how great a 
part these innocents had played in Alice's 

That Alice Lingfield and Bob Macalister 
were positively made for each other Mrs. 
Sutcliffe had decided from the very first, but 
Bob needed spurring to action by despair. 
Adown an easy path his feet might long 
have dawdled in the rosy byways of flirtation. 

Thus she had watched with joy the girl's 
pre-occupation in the children's society. 

" He won't be able to stand it much 
longer," Mrs. Sutcliffe had thought day by 
day ; " sooner or later he must wrest her 
from them by force ! " 

Penelope hardly knew why, but she 
awaited Alice's return with a sensation of 
suppressed excitement. Her mother's words 
had set her thinking. Was Mr. Macalister, 
perhaps, the someone else who loved Miss 
Lingfield too ? 

Across the hills, down to the valley came 
soft breezes, whispering their tender story of 
love abroad, light-footed and airy. Mrs. 
Sutcliffe felt the very day breathed rapture, 
as she pictured the riders side by side 
under the clear sky. 

At last came the sound of horses' hoofs in 
the drive, and as Alice alighted, her cheeks 
glowing, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted, 
she unconsciously told the glorious news of 
her freshly discovered love. One glance at 
Bob's face confirmed the revelation, and Mrs. 
Sutcliffe knew their visit to Dorking Hall had 
been crowned with success. 

" We have had such a lovely ride ! " said 
Alice, as Penelope flew inM her arms with 
the air of knowing and ui derstanding far 
more than she was supposed to know or 
understand. It had been a day of awaken- 
ing, a day of surprise ; all the clouds were 
drifting away under Alice's «unny radiance, 
her happy, sparkling mood. 

The twins struggled each to wrest from the 
other her riding-whip, the stronger of the 
two hugging it close to her baby heart, simply 
because it was Alice's, and therefore deserving 
of love. Haze 1 - and Diana were in her train 
and Pent lope b nmg on her arm adoringly. 


3 99 

Once more the children gathered close, 
drawn by the mute affection they could not 
express in words- Like a blooming rose 
surrounded by fair buds she stood amongst 
ihe little ones, and Bob no longer grudged 
them her smiles. 

When Alice was dressing for dinner that 
night Penelope crept to her room and 
hovered at her side, watching her as she 
arranged the long coils of hair which crowned 
her daintily-shaped head, 

"I have brought you a bunch of white 
azalea," said the 
child, "to put 
in your sash, 
because mother 
says you will 
soon be a bride, 
I once went to 
a wedding, and 
the bride smiled 
at all the people, 
and after- 
wards we 
dressed up 
with mother's 
lace shawl 
over our 
heads and 
pretended we 
were being 
married too. 
Are you glad 
Mr. Macalis- 
t e r loves 
you ? " 


put the question quickly, a note of sudden 
anxiety shaking her voice, 

Alice laid down the silver glass in which 
she had been examining her neatly coiffured 
head. She turned a pair of liquid eyes on 
the little figure and caught Penelope to her 

" Glad ! " she whispered, u Oh ! Pen, I'm 
so glad — I can't tell you — and, dearest, it's ill 
your doing! You mast have guessed he 
loved me, for you made it easy, you gave me 
my happiness, you best of fairy schemers ! n 
"I didn't guess — I did it for the poor 

gasped Pene- 
lope, not offer- 
ing to explain 
her enigmatical 
words. "But 
wasn't it lucky 
it made you 
happy too ? I 
feel just as if 
my heart would 
burst — it 
thumps a n d 

She pressed 
her little hands 
together, paus- 
ing for breath. 

" A bride ! ?J 
she repeated, 
dwelling on the 
words. "We 
must all of us 
play at weddings 
to-morrow ! " 

"ake you <;laij mh. macamstcr uoves you?" 

by Google 

Original from 

The Craze for Panama Hats. 


From a Photo, bjf Vandtr Wtydt. AW Tori. 

for a straw hat ! Enough with 
which to take a three months' 
holiday, enough to keep your 
son a year at college, enough 
to buy a small farm* And yet 
so astute a financier as Mr. Lyman Gage, ex- 
Secretary or the U*S, Treasury, recently paid 
that sum for an extra fine Panama hat, and 
reckoned, moreover, that he had made a 
good bargain* King Edward VII. also is 
reported to have paid a Bond Street hatter 
^£90 to secure "the best Panama in London"; 
while Jean de Reszke, the noted tenor, has 
paid the topmost price— something under 
jQuo — to procure a similar object in 
America. Ex -Mayor Van Wyck, of New 
York, is chuckling over his success in 
securing a Panama which dealers have told 
him is superior in quality to either King 
lid ward's or the one owned by Jean de 
Reszke. He paid only ^50. 

These instances of extravagance are not 
mentioned as a reflection upon the perpetra- 
tors, but merely to illustrate the extent of 
"the Panama hat craze," one of the most 
expensive fashions ever adopted by men. 
Expensive, because a Panama of even 
medium quality cannot be had for less than 
^5, and if you aim at having one that may 
be tucked away in a vest pocket like a lead 
pencil or slipped through a finger-ring, the 
price is, to most persons, prohibitive. In 

Digitized by VjOQQ It- 

spite of this costliness, however, Panama 
hats are being dispatched from South America 
absolutely in ship-loads, and about half the 
population of Ecuador are engaged in supply- 
ing hat luxuries for the men of Europe and 

The craze began last year, and appeared 
to be only transient ; but enterprising 
merchants foretold that this summer would 
find a demand far greater than the 
supply, and they accordingly put in their 
orders about six months ago. Since 
then the Panama hat industry has become 
more lucrative than any olher in that part 
of South America adjoining the Isthmus, 
and with the prospect of making a 
fortune in a few years many planters have 
abandoned the raising of coffee and rice. 
The mountain passes of the Andes, from 
Chimborazo northward, are crowded, day 
and night, with long columns of pack-mules 
and ox-carts hearing their precious burden 
to Panama, which is the clearing-house for 
hats. The streets of Panama itself are 
flanked with the establishments of hat- 
brokers, and half the city is engaged, one 
way or other ? in helping to further this 
American " craze. 1 " 

In all the pays of history you will, 
perhaps, find no account of a fad that was at 
the same time so costly as this one and yet 
so generally adopted, not even when plumed 
knights and«ixef^f^}ptl)fjd courtiers trod the 



3 01 

earth. In their heyday a considerable sum 
of money was, no doubt, paid for the 
picturesque <( Gainsborough/' expensively 
decorated, which was affected by the men of 
that period \ but it is safe to say that not 
even the extravagant Louis XIV. paid for his 
head-dress the price of the best Panama. 

In our time it has been almost the exclu- 
sive privilege of women to spend large sunns 
of money on hats, and it is not uncommon 
to hear of a Parisian " creation " selling for a 
thousand dollars. With the fashion, now- 
adays, of occasionally wearing diamonds or 

humorists to be up-to-date must regild one 
of their stock commodities. It is the women 
now who gasp with astonishment when the 
head of the house comes home with a little 
wisp of straw which he cheerfully proclaims 
has cost him something like a hundred 
pounds. Not only that, but he has the 
effrontery to boast of the purchase and goes 
strutting about because Brown or Jones has 
a Panama hat that is woven in two pieces 
while his, proud man, has never a seam ! 

At first sight the Panama hat "craze" 
would appear to be a lavish folly taken up 


From a Photo, by Vander 1t>#ifr. New York. 

other precious gems on a head-dress, there is 
practically no limit to the depth that a 
woman might plunge in indulging in this 
luxury. The fad of wearing real lace that 
is affected to day is also a costly one, A 
smartly-dressed woman whose ambition is to 
be in the swim of society will often wear two 
or three yards of Irish point- lace that costs, 
perhaps, £$o a yard. It is this sort of 
thing that gives a father or a husband heart- 
disease, a tragedy that has been so useful to 
joke writers and knock-about comedians. 
But the tables are now reversed, and 

because of a wild desire to ct be in style." 
But there are good causes for the Panama's 
popularity, the chief one being that the 
common straw hat, with its stiff brim, so 
universally worn in this country and abroad, 
is a fragile affair, breaks easily, and has little 
to recommend it excepting lightness of weight ; 
while a good Panama may be worn a lifetime, 
can be blocked to any shape, and is exceed- 
ingly comfortable to the head, It is, in short, 
a summer luxury, and only its costliness has 
prevented it from being universally worn. 
Among the false notions regarding Panama 





from a PhQfa. by YnruUr TKeycEt, AVw 

hats— and there are prevalent a great many — 
is that of its origin. The name, in the first 
place, would lead one to believe that the 
fabric is manufactured in Panama t whereas 
the fact is that Ecuador, Colombia, and 
Guayaquil produce two-thirds of all the 
Panamas in the market The city of Panama 
is merely a shipping port for these hats, which 
are brought from other places. It is the 
metropolis of the northern part of South 
America. The name was originally coined 
by some French merchants who bought straw 

hats in the village 
of Monte Cristo, 
Ecuador, and took 
them back to 
Paris. They at- 
tracted attention 
on the boulevards 
there, and when 
queried about 
them the French- 
men curtly replied, 
"Chapeaux de 

Another illusion 
that prevails gener- 
ally is that the 
natives weave 
these precious hats 
under water, but 
the photographs 
shown here con- 
clusively disprove 
that. The rumour probably started from 
the method of soaking the raw material in 
water prior to their being woven. There is 
nothing extraordinary about this, the object 
being merely to soften the H straw, t? so that 
it will be pi i a bio and easy to handle* 

To call the Panama a straw hat is, by the 
way, an anomaly, for it is not made of straw 
at all, the material used in its manufacture 
being either the stem of palm leaves or a 
rare sort of grass that grows in South 
America. The natives are very deft in 



»_.»*.* v**r w #NfViR5ITY OF 



curing and weaving both these products. 
The palm they tear in shreds with their 
teeth until it spreads out fan-shape. After a 
long soaking the palm stem is taken out of 
the water and nailed on a rough - looking 
block, at which the workman sits for weeks 
at a time, carefully putting in place shred 
after shred. 

It is i his length of time and tediousness 
in labour that account for the high price 
placed on Panama hats. An idea of the 
real situation in Panama may be had from 
the following letter received by S. M. Jackson 
and Co., of New York, from their South 
American agent : (i Replying to your valued 
inquiry of April 25th/' said this corre- 
spomlent, "regarding which we have had to 
make inquiries, we find that the ' finest * 
hat required by you would necessitate four 
months to manufacture, and would cost 
between Sodols* and loodols. in gold" (^16 
to j£2g). When a hat costs toodols. in its 
unfinished condition at the place of manu- 
facture it is not to be wondered at that the 
same hat, after going through the American 
Customs house, where a 35 per cent, duty is 
exacted, should retail at 5oodols,, or j£ioo. 

There is one distinction in Panamas of the 
utmost importance, a distinction which, if 
noticed, stamps the wearer as a possessor of 
the real thing, or, on the other hand, a 
pretender Your genuine, high - priced 
Panama is made in one piece and has no 
lining, while 
the inferior 
style of hat, 
made for the 
most part in 
A nti oqu ia, 
Colombia, is 
woven in two 
pieces and has 
a lining, The 
latter is re- 
garded with 
contempt by 
t h e S o u t h 

though they often pass in the United States for 
the "real thing" and are priced accordingly, 
The perfect Panamas are woven by the 
women of Ecuador, and those that live in 
the two provinces of Tolima and Suarez, 
Colombia. The men can rarely be induced 
to work, no matter how considerable the 
pay, and contractors have about ceased 
trying to galvanize them with energy. But 
the women are more industrious, and plod 
along week after week tearing the palm leaf 
with certain nicety and then weaving in the 
shreds, one hat at a time. 

The value of a hat depends entirely upon 
its texture and pliability. One that costs 
j^too, for example, should be so closely 
woven as to appear practically smooth to the 
naked eye. It is, of course, made in one 
piece, and if the owner has not been cheated 
he should be able to squeeze his hat through 
a finger-ring^ But a hat capable of this 
treatment is about as rare as a blue diamond. 
There is no telling where the Panama hat 
14 craze v will end, or the amount of money 
that has been spent thereon this season, 
The masculine population seem to have 
gone quite mad over \t f and dealers are 
taking advantage of the moment to reap a 
harvest, especially in America. "In other 
years," said a Broadway hatter, " I would 
have sold several thousand stiff- brim 
Mack maws in the first part of the season, but 
this season I have sold less than a hundred. 

Only Panamas 
are wanted* 
Women, too, 
have caught 
the infection, 
you will 
that be- 
the sum- 
is half 

will decree that 
to be up-to- 
date a woman 
must own a 


From a PfutU>. bv Van&tr Wepde, A>w York. 

by Google 

Original from 

Some After-Dinner Speakers. 

Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss, 

N everything variety is charm- 
ing, butj alas ! we have many 
charming speeches and far too 
little variety. It is too much 
the habit to select the same 
speakers time after time ; a 
man makes one good speech, and he is on 
the strength of it asked to make fifty. In all 
probability he repeat? himself, particularly if 
he poses as a humorist ; this performance 
becomes mechanical, the trick consists in 
saying the same thing in different ways, Earl 
Granville, giving some advice to a friend, 
who has since won the reputation of a very 
great speaker, 
said to him: 
44 There is no- 
thing so tiresome 
as the constant 
reappearance of 
the same man 
and the constant 
repetition of the 
same voice. Out 
of your toasts 
select one for a 
speech, and into 
that speech pour 
all the informa- 
tion, all the argu- 
ment, all the 
eloquence, all the 
wit, all the pathos 
you can possibly 
scrape together, 
and for God's 
sake don't make 
neat and appro- 
priate speeches 
between every 
other toast. 

Dismiss them with a sentence. If there is a 
point in that sentence, so much the better ; 
but if not, let it be one sentence without a 

If the late Earl gave this advice to his own 
countryman, what would he have thought 
of those irrepressible after-dinner speakers, 
the Americans, who M orate" on every 
possible occasion? As regards their after- 
dinner speaking, I would prefer to give the 
opinion of one of the greatest men in 
England than give my own* This opinion, 
from no less a person than Mr. Joseph 

Digitized by LiOOQlC 



Chamberlain, was given in the presence of 
Mr. Chauncey Depew, Sir Henry Irving, and 
others well able to discuss the point : it was 
that Americans are not better after-dinner 
speakers than the English. 

I think myself that the average American 
can speak better than the average English- 
man, but I have heard much better speaking 
on special occasions 111 England than I have 
heard in similar conditions in America, and 
I have had ample opportunity of making the 

Take haphazard a room full of Americans 
and a room full of Englishmen, and vou will 

find nearly every 
American will 
say something 
and say it well ; 
but, on the other 
hand, few Eng- 
lishmen can 
speak well That 
is not the point. 
I am referring to 
set after - dinner 
speaking, and 
there is no doubt 
as to the superi- 
ority of the Eng- 
lish over the 

The best after- 
dinner speaking 
I ever heard was 
at a dinner where 
speakers — all 
English — made 
far more eloquent 
and more witty 
speeches than I 
have ever heard at half-a-dozen American 
show bun juets. At the one I have in mind 
Ixird Rath more was at his best. Sir Frank 
Lockwood, Sir Edward Clarke, Mr. Finero, 
and Lord Russell excelled themselves. All 
the speakers confined themselves to their 
subject. Now this the Americans seldom do, 
as I have just pointed out They give a 
string of anecdotes, good, bad, and in- 
different, and wind up with an eloquent per- 
oration in flamboyant style* There is decidedly 
too much playing to the gallery and too little 
"playing the game/' as we would say, in 




order to drag In a story. The best friends of 
the speaker are bowled over without the least 
compunction. This is not playing cricket, 
but it is what I have witnessed Chauncey 
Depew and all American show dinner orators 
play at. It is what their friends expect and 
enjoy. We have a higher motive, and we 
therefore have better speeches. 

The stock toasts, dealing with national 
subjects, are dealt with on both sides of the 
Atlantic by out- 
pourings of plati- 
tudes, and seldom 
with a grain of 
sincerity, In that 
the Americans are 
superior to the 
English* They 
" orate " on their 
country's greatness 
at every opportunity, 
and when it is said 
they are better 
speakers you will 
find it is generally 
held so by those who 
are carried away by 
such rhetor cu As a 
specimen of the best 
American oratory I 
cannot select a better 
example than the 
fol lo w i ng brief 
speech, the first 
made by the Hon. 
Joseph Choate in 
this country as 
United States Am- 
bassador : — 

11 1 accept this 
cordial welcome," 
said the new Am- 
bassador, t4 not for 
myself, but for that 
friendly nation 
which I have been 
appointed to repre- 
sent. The ports of New York and South- 
ampton are now closely united by these 
great steamships- which fly between them 
like shuttles in the weaver's loom, con- 
necting them by imperishable bonds. This 
mutual commerce and interchange of travel 
will do more to strengthen the lies that 
already unite the two countries than any- 
thing else can do ; and if the men and women 
of England could visit the United States as 
freely as our countrymen flock to your shores, 
so that we could know each other better, 

VnL jixiv,— 39, 


that good understanding and fraternal 
feeling between the two peoples could 
never fail. Southampton has a special 
significance for all Americans* for it 
was from this ancient port, which for 
centuries before had witnessed the embarka- 
tion of all sorts of expeditions, that in 
the year 1620 our Pilgrim Fathers set sail in 
the Mayflower on that historic voyage which 
was to end in the planting of a new nation, 

which proved to be 
the first great depar- 
ture of the English 
race from its island 
home and island life, 
Springing from this 
stock a Republic of 
seventy millions of 
people, allied in 
blood, in institu- 
tions, in interest, and 
in the hopes of the 
future, stretches forth 
across the Atlantic 
the right hand of 
fellowship, and is 
ready to meet the 
mother country more 
than half-way in 
everything that shall 
tend to promote the 
common good of the 
two nations and 
the general welfare 
of mankind. To-day 
the representative of 
the descendants of 
the hundred heroes 
and heroines of the 
May flott *cr t ra ve rse s 
the same seas in a 
single week in a 
mighty cruiser, just 
converted from a 
swift engine of war 
into a welcome mes- 
senger of peace, her- 
self an emblem of that sea-power upon which 
the destinies of the Anglo-Saxon race depend. 
As I go to present my letter of credence from 
the President to your illustrious Sovereign, 
who, after more than sixty years, still reigns 
supreme in the hearts of her subjects and 
commands the affectionate admiration of my 
own countrymen as their ever-faithful and 
steadfast friend, I accept your cordial greet- 
ing as a harbinger of that practical friendship 
which is henceforth to control and govern 
the conduct of the two nations." 


3 o6 


Americans have a trick in after-dinner 
speaking. They lead up to a story, or two 
or three, as the case may be, and when you 
are laughing at that story they sit down. An 
American, in fact, saves himself the trouble 
of making a speech by telling a story. 
English speakers are too serious, A men cans 
too frivolous. The clever manner tn which 
they drag in a story seems to be the clever 
part of their after-dinner oratory. A Depew 
or a Horace Porter will drag in half-a-dozen 
good stories, and throw ofT a peroration as a 
sort of solid food after 
several pleasant, but 
not very substantial, 

By the way, there 
is a well-known story 
attributed, I believe, 
to ( General Horace 
Porter, who was re- 
ferred to by the chair- 
man in the following 
way : — 

11 We have here to- 
night General Horace 
Porter, and I call upon 
him for a speech. The 
gentleman is like a 
slot machine : you put 
in a dinner and out 
comes a speech/' 

The witty and 
gallant General rose, 
and replied with a 
quick fire of satire 
which killed the 
vulgar chairman on 
the spot : — 

" The chairman has 
thought fil to liken 
me to a slot machine. 
May I return the com- 
pliment, and say that 
he is like one also ? 
He puts in a speech and 

I have no doubt, however, that Americans 
are better at an impromptu speech than the 
English, To spenk impromptu is dangerous, 
One may kill himself by making an exhi- 
bition of imbecility or kill his friends by an 
exhibition of boredom, I rather appreciate 
Ihe remark of the Irishman who, suddenly 
called to fight, took to his heels, and when 
stopped said : — 

w It's better to be a coward for five 
minutes than to be a dead man all your life- 
time." v^p , 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

ccneral imrack i-ci k 

n p comes your 

But the American is always ready with a 
story, and therefore always ready with a 
speech. Now, this last witticism was intro- 
duced into a speech at one of the most 
important dinners m New York, at which I 
was present, by Mr. Depew himself, so you 
see in clever hands a joke need not be a new 
one.- An American after-dinner speech is 
like one of the sky-scraper buildings in the 
country : there is a frame of commonplace 
built upon a foundation of common sense. 
With marvellous rapidity story after stoTy is 

formed until the 
height of eloquence 
is reached, The 
crust of ornamental 
compliments cannot 
hide the irony it 
covers, and these 
piles of stories are so 
alike you cannot tell 
one from the other. 

Let me show you 
how the trick is 

A gentleman at a 
dinner would have a 
little story such as 
this, and would intro- 
duce it in this way: — 
" Mr. Chairman, 
did you know my 
feelings at the present 
moment and realize 
how very ragged they 
are, you would pro- 
bably have pity upon 
me, as the benevolent 
lady had for the tramp 
in tatters, when she 
said to him :— 

" ( My man, your 
clothes seem to be 
very ragged ; can I 
do anything to mend 
them for you ? ? To which he replied : — 

"'Well, ma'am, I have a button, and I 
would be very glad if you would sew a coat 
on to it 1 

(i Well, sir, I have a ?tory, and I shall be 
very glad if anyone will sew a speech on 
to it," 

The joke is almost as worn out as the 
coat, but the Americans seem to enjoy a joke 
the oftener they hear it. 

A gentleman at a dinner is called upon to 
take the place of another on the toast list— 
that is, to make a speech earlier in the 
evening than b^iffiWV| down for on the 




toast list ; ten to one he will begin with 
this :— 

" I feel I have no right here, for my time 
has not yet come, I am reminded of the 
story of the little boy in the village playing 
on a doorstep all by himself, who, when 
good-natured passers-by said : 'Why, little 
boy, play all by yourself? Why not join the 
others inside ? J replied : 'I mustn't. I am 
going to play the baby, and I'm not born 

Now, in the case of being called upon 
unexpectedly, the following will be accept- 
able at any gathering of Americans : — 

11 1 do not understand why I am called 
upon to speak to this toast. The reasons, 
no doubt, are various, but I am not con- 
vinced, and I know there is something in the 
compliments paid me, so 111 not spoil the 
compliments by asking for a reason. If I 
examine that reason, I would probably be as 
the man who said : l When that clock hand 
stands at two and it strikes six I shall know 
the time is seven,' I am afraid I must finish 
—my glass is run—I have taken up all the 
time one should with a worthless speech. 
Thanks, but I'm not going to imitate the 
parson in the little Presbyterian village, who 
when preaching placed an old half-hour-glass 
on the pulpit ; then, when the sand was out, 
he would lean over to his congregation 
and say : * Have another glass and 
linger with me still/ I don't know if 
it were the same parson who, when 
he died, had engraved on his tomb- 
stone the simple words, 'My glass is 
run, 7 and some mischievous urchin 
added one stroke to the last letter, 
and it read, ' My glass is rum,' What- 
ever my glass is, I drink to you, and 
I'll have another glass and linger with 
you still." 

Numerous instances are recorded of 
speakers mixing their metaphors, and 
either through ignorance or nervous- 
ness saying the wrong thing. One 
instance : A certain Duke, presiding 
at the fire well dinner to Mr. John 
Hare, who was starting for America to 
play in Mr, I'inero's "Problem l'lays" 
(Mr. Pinero was vice-chairman of the 
banquet), made the theme of his 
speech an attack upon the production 
of these very plays ! I remember 
many others- One I read about in 
America is too good to omit. 

General Fosse, on American officer 
and supporter of negro emancipation, 
once made a very animated address on 

Digitized by\_,GOgle 

behalf of the coloured population, A dinner 
was given subsequently to the General, when 
one of the sable guests, being called upon for 
a toast, was desirous of conveying the idea, 
by the sentiment he should give, that the 
General, though he was a white man, was 
nevertheless full of sympathy for the negroes. 
He therefore rose and gave " Massa General 
Foss ; he have white skin, but very black 

Sir Henry Irving always makes interesting 
after-dinner speeches, and it is needless to 
say they are delivered in artistic style. His 
speeches are carefully prepared and printed 
in very large block type, easily read at a 
distance. Herein lies the triumph of the 
actor. These slips are artfully placed 
on the table out of the sight of the 
audience; and while one of the speaker's 
hands rests artistically on his hip, the 
other toys with a fruit-knife, and with it pages 
of the speech are turned over as they are 
read. So perfectly is this acted, so grace- 
fully does the body sway, and so well-timed 
are the pauses in the speech that only those 
seated in close proximity to Sir Henry are 
aware he is reading his speech* If one 
cannot trust to memory this system is prefer- 
able to the prompter system, which some 
actors prefer from sheer force of habiL A 




friend on the prompt side is entrusted with 
the copy of the speech and acts the role of 
the prompter in the theatre, It is curious how 
some speakers cannot shake off this habit. 
This was most noticeable in the House of 
Commons, when the late Lor J Russell sat 
in Parliament as Mr. Gladstones Home 
Rule Attorney-General. He requiring a level- 
headed legal mind for Solicitor - General 
called in Mn J- Rigby, direct from court 
practice to the front bench in Parliament. 
Mr. Rigby was duly knighted and called 
upon to answer questions and make speeches, 
but force of habit debarred him from doing 
either in the stereotyped Parliamentary 
fashion, />., standing 
at the table sideways 
to the Speaker, He 
had invariably been 
accustomed to address 
the judge while facing 
him, so in like manner 
he must now perforce 
face the Speaker, In 
such matters the 
etiquette of Parliament 
is most punctilious. 
No one standing on 
the floor, while address- 
ing the House, is 
allowed to place either 
foot beyond the edge 
of the mat running 
parallel to the seats. Should he so trans- 
gress, loud calls to order are immediately 
heard ; yet here was a member of the 
Ministry not only overstepping the red- 
bordered mat, but taking several steps 
round the corner of the table, and— shade of 
Erskine ! — standing in front of the mace 
addressing the Speaker The House accepted 
the humour of the situation and laughed 
heartily, which was the only thing to do 
under the circumstances, for the Solicitor- 
General could not manage to get a word out 
until he stood in the House as he did in the 
court, i.e^ in front of the Pench. 

Another curious illustration of the force of 
habit was the system adopted by Lord Leigh- 
ton, late President of the Royal Academy. 
It may be true that " The pencil speaks 
the tongue of every land,' 1 and it is equally 
true that Ixtrd Leighton very nearly did 
the same thing. But artists as after-dinner 
speakers are sadly disappointing. That 
linguist and otherwise accomplished Presi- 
dent I have mentioned had the reputation 
of being an orator. He certainly, in a weak 
falsetto voice, whined through long winded 

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platitudes and prettily-turned sentences ; his 
speeches were exactly the same as his art : 
correct in outline, florid and conventional in 
colour, flat and thin in technique, pleasing, 
smooth, graceful, gorgeously framed— and 
soon forgotten. Lord Beaconsfield, on being 
asked at the Royal Academy banquet by an 
admirer of Leighton what he thought of that 
artist's speech, replied, with a shrug : " H*in T 
the French pastry of oratory." Rough, ready, 
delightful, and natural, Sir John Millais, on 
the other hand, made no effort and no 
success as a speaker. When he first took 
the chair at the banquet, poor fellow ! his 
fatal disease was already troubling him. He 
had to appeal to h;s 
audience for indulgence 
as he was no orator, 
and was furthermore 
suffering from hoarse- 
ness, yet by a strange 
coincidence facing him 
on the walls was his 
large ghost picture, 
called 4i Speak! 
Speak ! " Lord Leigh- 
ton did not read from 
a manuscript, but, 
having written out his 
speech, learnt it by 
heart, and then, 
through force of 
habit, actually fancied 
that he saw it on the wall, and read it 
word for word in imagination. " That 
accounts for my moving my head from side 
to side while I am speaking/' lie informed 
a friend of mine. There is no doubt artists 
can remember the form of what they read as 
they can remember all forms, but it is a 
curious fact that others besides artists have 
in their "mindVeye ,+ some form upon which 
they build their speeches. Charles Dickens 
in the opinion of those lucky enough to 
have heard the great author one of the 
best after-dinner speakers both as regards 
matter and delivery — likened his speech to a 
cart-wheel. "The outset was the tyre, he 
being the hub* From the hub to the tyre he 
would run as many spokes as there were 
subjects to be treated, and during the 
progress of the speech he would deal with 
each spoke separately, elaborating them 
as he went round the wheel; and when 
all the spokes dropped out one by one, 
and nothing but the tyre and space remained, 
he would know that he had accomplished 
his task and that his speech was at an end* 3 ' 
So wrote his friend and manager of his 




reading tours, the late Mr, Dalfay, and 
adds : " It was my fortune on many occasions 
to accompany Mr. Dickens when he took 
the chair at public dinners or meetings, and, 
remembering on all such occasions his plan 
of action, I have been amused to observe 
him dismiss the spoke from his mind by a 
quick action of 
the finger, as if 
he were knocking 
it away," 

John Bright, 
u Silver Tongue," 
one of the greatest 
speakers of our 
time, after making 
a remarkable 
speech, happened 
to leave his notes 
on the table, An 
admirer eagerly 
seized them, 
" Now I shall dis- 
cover this extra- 
ordinary man's 
method/'' 1 forget 
the actual words, 
but they were few 
and something 
like "cats," "fuzz- 
wuzzy," fct Cali- 
ban/' " Lachesis," 
" abracadabra," 
"snuff/' "toads." Needless to say, he was 
not particularly enlightened. 

An easy method by which to escape any 
effort in after-dinner speaking is to repeat 
the same words 
time after time. 
Our greatest 
cricketer, as is 
well known, does 
not make speeches 
with as much 
fa c i li ty as he 
makes runs ; and 
when he was on 
tour in Australia 
as captain of the 
English team had 
to return thanks 
time after time. He 
merely repeated a 
dozen or so words 
of simple gratitude 
precisely the same 
on each occasion, 
and in that way 
established another 

Charles dickens 

record, After I had an action brought 
against me by the late George Augustus Sala 
for some chaffing remarks made in an after- 
dinner speech, whenever called upon I 
excused myself from making another, being 
nervous that in paying a compliment to some 
thin-skinned person present I might again 

find myself in the 
Law Courts. I 
had a stereotyped 
speech which 
served for some 

Our cleverest 
dramatist, Mr. 
Pinero, imitates 
Sir Henry living's 
method exactly, 
but he is even 
more deceptive in 
order to conceal 
the fact that he 
reads his speech. 
He more than 
once stops ab- 
ruptly, looks 
quickly to a far 
corner of the 
table, evidently 
fixing his piercing 
eye upon some 
particular diner, 
savs, " What do 
say?" (Pause.) 
that interruption/ 



lord na 

hear that gentleman 
11 Well, if he means by 
etc\ } and replies to the imaginary gentleman 
in a delightful, supposititious impromptu. 

That is clever and 
decidedly legiti- 
mate, for> after all, 
a speech should 
be an entertain- 
ment, and effect, 
however produced, 
is everything, par- 
ticularly if speeches 
are endowed with 
that literary merit 
as such speakers 
as I write of pos- 
sess ; it is just as 
well they should 
be carefully pre- 
pared beforehand 
and guided by 
elaborate notes, 

Of Lord Rose- 

bery I would say 

mm his matter is better 




than his manner. To me he never seems to 
feel what he says ; his face remains a mask, 
neither the mouth nor the eye being that of 
an orator. 

Mr. Augustine Birrell is now the popular 
humorist after dinner, particularly when 


political Mr. G. B. Shaw is as amusing, 
audacious, and unconventional in speech as 
he is in his writing. 

I must class with the last two humorists 
an after-dinner speaker who has lately sprung 
into popularity. I refer to Mr. M, H. 
Spielmann, the well-known art critic, author 
of "The History of Punch" editor of the 
Magazine of At/ t etc, I have heard many 
speakers on both sides of the Atlantic, hut 
none better than he— witty, literary, with a 
capital delivery and easy manner, I first 
heard him speak as chairman of the New 
Vagabond Club. Out of this vagabond 
jester's wallet I filch a few crumbs of wit : — 

" We are vagabonds. As Alexander Smith 
says, ' Nature makes us vagabonds ; the 
world makes us respectable/ Let me say 
at once, therefore, so that there should be 
no, mistake, that there is a disreputable type 
of vagabond from whom we entirely dis- 

Digitized by G* 

sociate ourselves. We all of us know the 
type and its species — the ' perverted vaga- 
bond' — the man with all our few vices and 
none of our many virtues. He is the sham 
Bohemian, the man who professes to be * a 
close friend, 1 and is never so close as when 
he is asked for money. He is a * hanger-on/ 
for whom literature is as much a * hand to 
mouth' profession as dentistry. But, ladies 
and gentlemen, even a worm will turn — if you 
keep it long enough, and we turn against the 
smircbers of our name and order." Then, a 
propos of including 14 lady vagabonds" as a 
complete change in the policy of the club, he 
tells a capital story : a case of an old gentle- 
man comfortably installed in a non-smoking 
railway compartment at Paddington, when 
an Eton boy entered, pulled out a big cigar, 
and was just going to strike a light when the 
old gentleman broke out ; '* Young sir, this 
isn't a smoking carriage.' 1 The boy struck his 


match as he replied : " Precious soon will 
be ! " Another capital story I recall in that 
rich feast of the best humour ; u There is an 
Oriental saying, * Who is the happier — the 
man with a million of money or a man 
with nine daughters ? The man with nine 
daughters, because he doesn't want any 
more/ " 
To those^who arerfertunate enough to hear 



3 11 

Mr Spiel man n speechify } however, this would 
not apply ; for, like Oliver Twist, they would 
certainly "ask for more." 

It is not often that the toast of " The 
Navy " is responded to by a 
witty representative of out 
" Handy -men." Of course, 
Lord Charles Beresford is 
always interesting and amus- 


but then he has some 

set, serious purpose in speak- 
ing. l ; or a witty, unofficial, 
nautical after-dinner speaker 
I would suggest Admiral Sir 
William Kennedy: his stories 
are always fresh and amusing. 
I select two. The following 
is an episode in his career 
he amused the Authors 3 
CUib with. A retired boat- 
swain of the Royal Navy 
bought a little house within 
sound of the sea, in which 
he lived. Each morning he 
was called at 4 a.m. by a 
boy, who received sixpence a 
week for this service. The 
neighbours, curious to know 
the reason of this apparently purposeless 
call, interrogated the boy. 

Neighbours: "Why do you call him at 
4 a.m., and what occurs?' 1 

Boy 1 "I calls him at 4 a.m., and says 
he to me, says he, 
1 How's the weather?' 
I answers, £ A dark and 
stormy morning,' and 
has orders to add, 'and 
the captain wants you 
immediately on deck/ 
He answers, *Tell the 
captain to go to Jericho,* 
and he rolls over and 
falls asleep again," 

Another story — The 
Sea Lawyers. While 

stationed on the coast of Newfoundland the 
admiral, then a captain, and his first lieu- 
tenant were made Justices of the Peace, 
in order that they might adjudicate on the 
cases and disputes of the 
inhabitants in remote parts 
of the iron - bound coast 
where J,IVs never ventured 
to voyage. The inhabi- 
tants were accustomed to 
store up the questions and 
cases until a man-of-war 
arrived and then bring them 
before the captain* At one 
part of the coast a compli- 
cated question of title to 
land was awaiting decision. 
It had been brought before 
several naval captains, all of 
whom had failed to under- 
stand it or settle it. When 
H.M.S, Druid arrived on 
the spot the inhabitants came 
down, eager to have the 
knotty point settled. The 
captain and his first lieu- 
tenant sat on the quarter- 
deck, the inhabitants 
grouped around, and the case was argued 
from early morning to evening. Each 
hour it became more entangled and com- 
plicated; the seamen knitted their brows, 
and at the close of the arguments said that 
as it was a case of 
great importance they 
would take time to 
consider and give their 
decision ne\t morn- 
ing. The inhabitants 
left, and came down 
next morning, rejoicing 
to think that the case 
would at last be settled, 
but only to see H,M + S. 
Druid disappearing 
below the horizon. 

MR, M. H. SPlKLMANtt. 


by Google 

Original from 

The PVould-Be Assassin. 

By Edwin Pugh. 

Freedom were 
agreed that 
in a bad way. 
themselves the 
Branch of the 

I HE Sons o' 
England was 
They called 

Sons o' Freedom ; but they 
were, in fact, the whole tree— and a leafless, 
fruitless tree, too. They met in a small room 
over the bar of the Box o' Nails public- 
house, and their induction ceremony was as 
funny as an indifferently modelled piaster 
skull could make it. They were mostly gin- 
bitten loafers who had never done an honest 
day's work in their lives. They always knew 
what the Government was going to do long 
before the Government had decided to do 
something else. Their watchword was 
" Progress," and their motto : " Those who 
live only in the past should be made a part 
of the past." They were noisy and unclean 
and ignorant. And only one of them was, in 
any sense, sincere. 

That one was the secretary, Bertie Spell. 

He was a young man with a sallow, greasy 
face and an epileptic laugh. He could stand 
on a chair and rave as if his foot were on the 
neck of the world. He could spout raw 
treason until he was the only one in the room 
who was not tired. 

" All very well to talk," said Bob Fields, 
the president, one sultry autumn evening. 
" But fine words butter no parsnips." He 
sucked ferociously at his pipe. "What we 
want is a man who'll do something." 

Bertie Spell looked somewhat abashed. 
He ceased to saw the air with his soft, dirty 

" What is there to do ? " he asked. " We 

" Agitate ourselves. Yuss. And what 
for? What's the good of it?" He rose 
with a snarl. " I'd give all the agitators in 
the world for one man with a knife." 

Bertie pursed his lips. " Times are not 
ripe for that sort o' thing." 

" I believe you. They're rotten." 

" All very fine to talk ! But what would 

" Me ? 'Tain't for me to do nothing. 
The brain plans and the hand strikes. I'm 
the chairman o' the organization committee 

o' this society, remember. You don't go 
putting a general on outpost duty." 

"No," said Bertie Spell, vaguely. "Still, 
I hardly see " 

"Too busy talking to see anything," 
grunted Fields. 

Bertie Spell hung his head. Fields seized 
the opportunity to exchange a solemn wink 
with his mates. Baiting the secretary was 
good fun, and easy as cadging. 

"What we ought to do," said one, 
McGarron, " is to make an example o' 

" How do you mean ? " he was asked. 

"A little blood-letting. Healthy for the 
constitution. I say no more," McGarron 

"Shoot ?" 

"Shoot! Stab! Blowup! I don't care ! 
Why should we leave all that sort o' thing to 
foreigners ? . Ain't we as good men as them 
there Eyetalians ? Well, then ! " 

" Who would you begin with, Mac ? " 
asked little Spider Hayes. 

" I'd begin wi' one o' them there half- 
baked Imperialist blokes, that's who I'd 
begin with." 

" Harringay ? " 

" Ah, or Cantelupe," suggested the chair- 
man. " Think what it'd be to stop his 
gallop. But what's the use o' talking ? 
We're all too good at that. 'Specially young 
Bertie there." 

" Fact o' the matter is," said little Spider 
Hayes, " there ain't a man among us wi' the 
backbone of a herring." 

Bertie Spell lifted his head. His high 
cheekbones shone damp. " Would you do 
it, Spider?" 

" Do what ? " 

"Shoot Cantelupe." 

" Only let him walk in here. I'd show 
you, then." 

" Drop him a card, Spider. He'd be 
bound to call," guffawed McGarron. 

" You know what I mean, Mac," said 
Spider Hayes, darkly. 

They were all portentously solemn in an 
instant. " Oh, we know what you mean" 
they said. 

" But," exclaimed Spell, as if he were 

by LiOOgle 

- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l I I ■_■ i 1 1 




uttering his thoughts, " why should you 
expect me to— to act, rather than any- 
body else ? TJ 

fct We dqn'r expect you to act/" said Fields, 
** That's our worriment" 

"After all, if you are the president, Ym 
the secretary. " 

" No need to keep chewing it, Bertie*" 

They talked of other things. But Spell 
sat silently apart, 

44 Drink up, Bertie/ 1 said McGarron. 

He drank and spoke rather huskily. " Any- 
body here know any- 
thing about pistols ?* 
he asked. M I've 
never handled one 
in my life." 

lust he succeeded in extricating something 
bulky and shiny from the muddle of lags 
in which it had become entangled. The 
thing was a pistol. He rested the muzzle of 
it on the table, crossed his legs, and regarded 
them fixedly. 

hi Here," said he, " is the weapon." 

He uncrossed his legs, snapped the trigger, 

and pointed the pistol at Spider Hayes* 

Spider promptly disappeared under the table, 

£i Put it down, you fool 3 " shouted Fields. 

'■ It might go off," 

"Nothing to know, 1 ' said Spider Hayes* 
"You just get your pistol, pop some cart- 
ridges into it, and there you are." 

44 What do they cost ? n 

11 Get an all-right secondhand one for 
five or six bob/' replied McGarron, winking 

Bertie Spell said nothing further on the 

On the following evening he arrived late. 
.He shook hands formally all round, per- 
formed the usual hocus-pocus with the skull, 
then stalked to the head of the table. He 
struck the sloppy board with his fist. 

14 Brethren," he called out T loudly, in thin, 
nasal tones, "I have got something 'to show 

He thrust his hand into the breast of his 
coat and began to struggle with the torn 
lining of his pocket, 

M What is it? Conjuring trick ?" asked 

The others watched him curiously. At 


VraL XXIV.— 4Q* 


Bertie pointed it at him, and he joined 

4£ It won't go off^yet ! !1 said Bertie Spell 
in the best style of melodrama* *" It i^ivt 
loaded," he added, a little lamely. 

Spider and the president reappeared, 

fi Why didn't you say so ? " 

" Playing the goat like that ! " 

They resumed their seats, grumbling. 

* ( With this weapon/' Bertie Spell an 
nounced, " I mean to strike the first blow 
at the tyranny which triumphs over us." 
Original from 




" Hear, hear ! " they cried, coughing to 
mask their grins; 

" With this weapon," Bertie continued, " I 
mean to rid the world of that monster of 
iniquity, Cantelupe ! " 

They battered on the table with their pots. 

" Yesterday," the fatuous youth went on, 
"I was scorned, laughed at, derided, made 
the butt of jests. To-day I come before 
you a foredoomed martyr to the cause of 
freedom." He indulged in much more 
similar bombast. 

They circled and hummed about him. 
For he brought a breath of determined 
sincerity into their deliberations that made 
them feel, somehow, holy and dedicate. 
Almost he persuaded them that they were 
indeed a band of desperate patriots. They 
did not believe that he was truly serious, of 
course. They regarded the whole display as 
a piece of timely, excellent mumming, and 
no more than that. But the pistol looked 
colourably like real treason, and they were 
elated. The weapon passed from hand to 
hand and was gingerly inspected. The 
trigger was cocked and pulled, and the 
chambers revolved with a murderous click, 

" How many traitors, now, could you 
account for wi' that ? " little Spider Hayes 

" Five," answered Bertie Spell. " Suppos- 
ing you didn't miss any." 

" It'd work out at about a bob a traitor," 
mused McGarron. 

For a week Bertie basked in the lustre of 
the pistol. He breathed a rarefied air of 
adulation that intoxicated him. But at 
the end of the week Fields, who had 
grown gloomy in eclipse, remarked rather 
pointedly : — 

" Well, we've had the grand ongiray of 
clowns. Now, when's the circus going to 
begin ? " 

" Meaning the shooting?" said McGarron. 

11 Meaning the shooting," Fields assented, 

" I haven't bought any cartridges yet," 
stammered Bertie Spell. " I'm going to, 
though; And then " 

"And then— what?" asked Fields, un- 

" You will see," said Bertie. " I say 

" Seems to me you say a lot," Fields 
growled. " All jaw, you are, like a sheep's 

Bertie Spell was discomfited. "Can't 
do everything in a minute," he protested. 

" The thing — details, , you know — wants 
planning out I'm game enough, as I'll 
prove to you. But what I want to know is, 
how am I to get at him ? " 

" That's easily arranged," said McGarron. 
"Every week-end he goes down to Bullen 
Priors, in Darkshire, where he's got a sort of 
a castle, blight him ! All you've got to do is 
to go down there, too, next Saturday, and 
wait for him at the station." 

" And * what r then ? " asked Bertie, tremu- 

" What then ? Why, you just shoot him. 
That's all." 

"But there would be a lot of people 

" What's that matter ? All the better." 

" But " Bertie moistened his lips. 

" I should be arrested. If I killed him I 
should be hanged." 

" Of course you would," they responded, 
cheerfully. "Still, all the hanging in the 
world wouldn't bring Cantelupe back to life. 
You must think o' that" 

"Mark you," said Bertie, "I don't mind 
killing him. I'm going to kill him. Ques- 
tion is, why shouldn't I kill him without 
risking being hanged myself ? Why shouldn't 
I waylay him in some quiet lane and do the 
deed? I could leave one of the society's 
cards on his body to show why I'd done it" 

" Cheese it ! " exclaimed Spider Hayes. 
" We should have the police down on us." 

"Well," said Bertie, "I don't want to 
collar all the glory myself, you know. No 
reason why you shouldn't share in it too." 

This remark, for some occult reason, did 
not please them, however. They exchanged 
alarmed glances. Bertie Spell was display- 
ing a grim earnestness of manner that made 
them wonder whether, after all, his talk was 
but mere empty vapouring. In spite of 
themselves they began to feel a certain awful 
respect for the boy. But Fields, jealously 
fearful of this rising tide of favour that 
threatened to rehabilitate his rival in the 
esteem of the meeting, distributed winks, 
thick and fast, to reassure them. 

" I put it to you," said he, " ain't we 
had about enough o' this here tomfoolery ? 
We know very well what it all amounts to. 
Our young friend and brother has amused 
himself at our expense long enough, I reckon. 
I suggest we closure the subject for good 
and all." 

Bertie Spell, white and trembling, indig- 
nantly protested in a speech that bristled 
with cant Parliamentary terms. This was 
worse than the obstructive methods of a das- 

by \j, 



Ml I I '.' I 1 1 




tardly Opposition, he maintained. Were they, 
the Sons o 7 Freedom, to ape the shallow 
artifices of that corrupt House whose very 
existence they had banded themselves to- 
gether to abolish ? He requested the hon, 
president to withdraw the offensive term, 
ki tomfoolery," 

14 That 1 * all gay, Bertie," said Fields, 
"'Ere, what's Mr. Spell done that his glass 
should be empty ? " 

A truce to hostilities was called and 
ratified. Bertie, maudlin tears in his eyes, 
shook hands with fields across the table. 

"But, by the sacred emblem of the skull," 
he declared, " I'll show you whether I'm a 
wind-bag or a man 3 " 

Next day he bought cartridges, and carried 
a loaded pistol to the Box o' Nails, During 
a pause in the talk he suddenly rose and 
pointed the pistol at a vase on the shelf. He 
pulled the trigger. There was a dull snap, 
but no report. His fellow-members adjured 
him solemnly to put his weapon up. 

u Blame the thing!" he muttered, and 
tried again* 

This time he fired successfully* The vase 
fell in shattered fragments to the floor, and 
the room was filled with smoke. 

H Thus shall Cantelupe fall ! " said he, 

" 'Kre, be careful!" Fields exclaimed. 
"No need to break up the 'appy 'ome." 


by Google 

" What I suggest is this/' said Spider 
Hayes : c * put the instrument o 1 vengeance on 
the mantelpiece where we can all see it T and 
then drink to the 'ealth of our noble brother, 
Albert Spell/' 

This suggestion was popularly acclaimed 
and forthwith adopted. 

bt Spell ! " they roared, " Spell ! " 
The contents of the glasses gurgled down 
their throats. 

It was in the golden glow of a misty 
November morning, some four or five days 
later, that Bertie Spell alighted from the 
train at Bullen Priors and made his way up 
the winding, hilly High Street toward Glebe 
Place, Cantelupe's country residence* He 
called in at the Okie Lion for a dram, and 
inquired of the landlord, artlessly, if the 
famous Minister was staying in that neigh- 
bourhood. The landlord answered "Yes," 
and proceeded to give details of Cantelupe's 
life in retirement. 

'* He is just like one o J we," said the 
worthy host " Potterin' in his garden, 
maunderin* about the lanes, wi' his dogs an' 
his fly-net, or mayhap a greenheart rod — 
you'd never take him for the great man he 
be up to Lunnon." 

Bertie thanked him and, with new agitating 
tremors in his breast, pursued his way. 

He found Glebe Place readily. It was an 

old greystone 
manse, built on a 
wild, weed-infested 
patch of upland. 
A high wall en- 
closed it. There 
was a tiny lodge 
beside a great gate 
of scrolled iron- 
work. Bertie Spell 
peered through *he 
gate. A rubbly 
carriage -drive led 
straight to the door 
of the house ; hut, 
saving the presence 
of a strutting pea- 
cock and a host of 
humbler birds, 
there was no sign 
of life visible. So 
Bertie decided to 
await contingen- 
He withdrew to a belt of trees that over- 
shadowed the lane, and sat down on a 
fallen trunk and took out his pistol. He 
had by this time grown accustomed tu the 
Original from 



look and heft of the weapon ; but he was 
still, nevertheless, a little afraid of the deadly 
thing. His hand trembled as he toyed with 
it Once he dropped it on the damp, dead 
leaves, and a frightened cry escaped him. 
He restored it to the pocket of bis shabby 
overcoat. For two or three hours he loitered 
there in the wood ; and the hope grew in him 
momentarily that Cantelupe would not appear. 
He had taken only an excursion ticket and 
must return that day at nightfall. 

It was afternoon when, at last, he heard 
the iron gates of Glebe Place clang harshly 
together. He stepped cautiously to the edge 
of the thicket and gazed out through a trailing 
vine on the narrow road. 

An old gentleman in a tweed suit was 
strolling leisurely away from him. His head 
was bent over a book, which he held close to 
his eyes, as if he were short-sighted. A big, 
shaggy dog, that had followed him from the 
house, lay rolling in the dusty highway. 
The old gentleman turned and whistled, and 
Bertie Spell recognised in the puckered, 
pink and white face the features of the 
hated Cantelupe. Never before had he seen 
the great man in the flesh, but many cari- 
catures had made his features familiar to 
him. He had a feeling of mild, unreason- 
able surprise at finding that Cantelupe was 
not tricked out in some absurd disguise, such 
as the comic papers delighted to present him 
in ; that he was neither old woman nor 
clown, neither rat. mole, dog, ass, pig, ape, 
but just a conventionally-clad English gentle- 
man, betraying an obvious feebleness of old 
age in every precise, deliberate movement. 
The dog got up and trotted after its master. 
Bertie Spell, having considered the situation, 
followed on also. 

But he still kept in the friendly shelter of 
the trees. It was parlous boggy under- 
foot and damp overhead, for there had been 
a heavy dew. At each step he shook down a 
shower of sparkling drops. The brambles 
clung to his clothes and tore his hands. His 
boots sank deep in the slushy soil, rotten 
with decaying pine-cones, husks of nuts, and 
skeletons of leaves. Still, at each stride he 
gained on Cantelupe ; for the old man went 
very, very slowly. 

When he was come almost abreast with 
his quarry Bertie plunged deeper into the 
belt of wood, made a wide detour that brought 
him upon an open common, then struck 
toward the road again some three furlongs 
farther down. The covert was too sparse 
to conceal him now ; so, taking heart of 
necessity, he climbed down into the road. 

It was a lonely spot. The tortuous way 
wound north and south between high, 
powdery banks, all covered with hanging 
ferns and grasses. There was no one in 
sight, no sign of human habitation. Bertie 
Spell- lurked behind a tree and waited. 

Presently Cantelupe appeared, still poring 
over his book, the great, shaggy dog ambling 
heavily beside him. Bertie Spell was afflicted 
with symptoms of collapse : a dryness of the 
throat, a weakness in the knees, heat at the 
stomach, chill at the extremities. A dank 
moisture that broke out on him made the air 
feel icy cold about his head. He was within 
an ace of retreating into the wood again and 
abandoning his enterprise. But he remem- 
bered in time his daring vows, and the mani- 
fold humiliations that any pusillanimity on 
his part would entail now. 

It is hard to follow the workings of such 
a mind. Perhaps he did, indeed, imagine 
himself to be a hero. Perhaps, in the muddy 
recesses of his inner consciousness, there 
lived a sincere sentiment of perverted 
altruism which made the killing of Cantelupe 
seem to him an act of righteous retribution. 
Certainly vanity and a weak, overweening 
desire to gild his own poor name and cut a 
romantic figure of sacrifice before the world 
played their part in nerving him to perform 
what he had threatened. He stepped into 
the middle of the road and cocked his 

Cantelupe, all unaware of what awaited 
him, came steadily on. The dog ran ahead 
and nosed at Bertie's knees. Bertie felt 
that there was no further time to waste. 
Cantelupe was not more than twelve yards 
away. He lifted the pistol to a level with 
his eyes, took hurried aim, and fired. 

There was a little, dull snap, but no 

Frenziedly he readjusted the trigger, pulled 
it again — and again the weapon missed fire. 

Cantelupe was so close to him now that he 
had no time to make a third attempt. He 
could see the old man's rheumy eyes and 
venous forehead over the top of the book. 
To avoid an actual collision he stepped aside. 
The dog growled. 

Cantelupe lowered his book. "Down, 
Queen ! " He stared at Bertie Spell. 
" Halloa, young man ! What do you want ? " 

He blinked at Bertie owlishly. 

" Pardon me. I'm so blind. Do I know 

He drew a pair of spectacles from his 
pocket, adjusted them on his nose, then 
scanned Bertie's shrinking figure from sodden, 

by t^ 



j 1 1 1 .* 1 1 1 








dripping hat to muddy boots, 
rested particularly on the pistol. 

" I see," said he. " Well, let me have a 
lode at it/' 

As one in a dream Bertie handed the pistol 
to him. 

"H'm! h'm!" the old man doddered. 
"You were taking it up to The Place, I 
suppose, H'm ! I don't know that I want it 
Hut 111 look at it, Til look at it. H'm ! " 
He was examining the pistol closely* " Looks 

like But I can't see here, I must put 

it under a glass. Are you living in the 

11 No, sir/' faltered Bertie Spell, giddy with 

"Visitor? H'm! Excursionist? H'm! 
Perhaps you'd better come up to The Place 
with me, then. You're not a dealer ? " he 
inquired, suspiciously. 

" No, sir." 

" Glad to hear it. Can't stand dealers. 
Come along* " 

They retraced their steps adown the lane, 
Cantelupe carrying the pistol and walking at 
an enhanced pace; Bertie Spell shuffling 
beside him with a head like a humming-top. 


The porter swung back 
the iron gates, and they 
went up the weed grown 
carriage drive to the 
house. In the spacious 
stone hall Cantelupe asked 
Bertie : — 

14 What will you drink? 
Whisky? H'm! Brandy? 

" Brandy," said Bertie 
Spell, who felt that he 
needed it 

" Bring some Cour- 
voisier up to my museum/' 
said Cantelupe to a foot- 
man. M Come on, young 

He led Bertie Spell 
upstairs to the most mar- 
vellous room that he had 
ever beheld. There were 
glass cases ranged round 
the walls from floor to 
ceiling. They were stored 
with a wondrous collec- 
tion of strange treasures 
— precious and rare anti- 
quities, miracles of beauty 
from sea and mine, costly 
**\f°* & *' ornaments irom the utter- 

most ends of the earth, 
curious products of alien civilizations, living, 
moribund, and dead 

u Have a look round while I examine this 
pistol, mister/' said Cantelupe. "Ah, thank 
you," as a footman entered with a jingling 
tray. " Will you please help yourself ? " 

Bertie Spell helped himself with fine 

'•It's the best dream-brandy I ever tasted," 
he reflected. 

Cantelupe had taken the pistol to Lhe 

window and placed it under a powerful lens. 

" What's it loaded with ball-cartridge for ? 

Wrong size, too," he quavered, peevishly. 

" YouVe jammed it, you silly man." 

Bertie, drying his palms on his trousers, 
knew not what to answer, Cantelupe ex- 
tracted the cartridges carefully, one by one, 
as if absent-mindedly. 

"H'm!" he said, at last. "Er— really, 
young man, I have so many fire-arms, the 
place is a perfect armoury, People seem to 
think, they can shoot all their rubbish here 
and get a price for it. Still, as this is a 
S<5verac, and those French pieces are hard 

to get " He faced about, " How much 

do you want for it? I'll pay your expenses 
Original from 




down here and back, of course. Came 
by excursion, didn't you ? Well, how 

u Really, sir, it was not my intention " 

"Pouf! Don't tell me you came down 
here for the sake of the fresh air- The pistol 
betrays you. What's your price ? " 

" I paid five shillings for it, sir," Bertie 
Spell blurted 

Cantelupe put 
the pistol down 
abruptly. " You 
paid how much ?" 

" Five shillings 
sir/ 1 

The Minister 

14 Why is it I 
can never pick up 
these bargains ? " 
he exclaimed, 
testily. (i Where 
did you get it ? 5t 

" A t a pa wn- 
broker's in the 
Borough, sir," 

nodded disconso- 

" I suppose you 
know how much 
it's worth ? " 

"No, sir/' 

*'Man," cried 
Cantelupe, "are 
you a rascal or a 
fool? Why don't 
you haggle with 
me? I could 
beat you down 
ttiih an easy con- 
science then. But 

if you really don't know the value of it 

Oh, but you do ! Come, now, no more 
nonsense. How much do you want for it?" 

Bertie Spell, bewildered and defeated, 
stammered out, ** I would rather leave it 
to you, sir," 

"Come here," said Cantelupe. "Turn 
your face to the window, hold up your head, 
man/ 1 He subjected Bertie to a keen 
scrutiny, "You seem to be an honest 



fellow," he said, " You should be intelligent, 
too, if I am any judge of a face. You 
drink too much, though." He paused, 
pondered, " I'll give you six pounds for the 
piece, and your expenses. I really couldn't 
offer you more than that What ? " 

He counted out six pounds and ten 
shillings on the table. Bertie Spell, wonder- 
ing when he would 
wake up, pocketed 
the money* 

"Now be off 
with you," said 
Cantelupe, laugh- 
ing gleefully as he 
picked up the 
pistol again, and 
gloated over it, 
u Be you fool or 
rascal, that's the 
last doit you'll get 
out of me." 

He offered 
Bertie his small, 
tenuous hand, " I 
am much obliged 
to you, sir," he 
said. "If you 
should happen to 
come across any 
other things of this 

sort ° 

He, the great 
and wicked Can- 
telupe, himself 
escorted Bertie 
Spell to the door. 
he said, shaking 
hands again, 
** Don't forget me, 
Mister— er— what- 
ever your name is." 
clanged behind Bertie 
on the tree-lined road 


THE-' I'iTifOL AliAJN* 

The iron gates 
Spell, and he was 

" Forget you ! " he said aloud, as he 
trudged toward the station, rattling the 
gold in his pocket. " Forget you 1 " He 
took out the coins one by one and tested 
them with his teeth. " Long may he 
wave ! " he cried. " He's as good as his 

by Google 

Original from 

The Humour of Sport. 

By James Walter Smith. 



HE joke-maker and comic 
draughtsman have discovered 
in automobilism a veritable 
El Dorado. Within the last 
two years, since the motor-car 
became popular and the joke* 
makers themselves became more full of 
knowledge of the subject, the humorous 
journals of this and other countries have 
been increasingly full of pleasantries, verbal 
and pictorin], hitting off the infirmities of 
motor-cars and the foibles of those who drive 
them. The result is a budget of fun which, 
being collected together, should cause a 
hearty laugh, and in this laughter the two 
classes into which the world is divided — 
those who mote and those who don't — 
should be able to join. 

Inasmuch as our old friend Bucephalus, or, 
as he is better known, the common or garden 
horse, was probably the first to get an acute 
sensation on sight of the first automobile, so 
have the fun- 
makers done their 
best to try to 
telt us what the 
horse has thought 
upon this matter. 
Just what he did 
think is still open 
to doubt, other- 
wise there would 
have been one 
subject only for 
the artist to de- 
pict, but we may 
take it for granted 
that when the first 
motor - car came 
his way the horse 
realized that it 
was all up with 
his profession. 
The cab ■ horse 
had visions of a 
grating-ground in 
which he should 
end his peaceful 

days, the plough - horse gave a gratified 
sigh as he looked forward to the day of a 
horseless plough, and the coster's donkey 
brayed with increasing vehemence and 
pricked up his ears at the passing whirr as 
the picture of 'Arry on a mechanical barrow 
flitted before his mental vision. One startled 
equine, as may be seen in our illustration, 
coming across a runaway and upturned motor, 
expressed his disdain of the whole thing by 
getting to work at once with his hind legs. 
Even the st bobby" stood by in astonishment 
as the outraged but respectable farm-horse 
emphasized his protests with the pointed 
remark, " You can go, but f hang it f you can't 
kick," whereas another, shown on the next 
page, took the automobile for a live waggon, 
and was content merely with a fit of hysterics. 
The third picture illustrates the old- 
time saying that familiarity breeds con- 
tempt It was not long before the equine 
world forgot its first impression and deter- 


The House (tq a runaway upturned motor): ** You can «o, but, hang it, you can't kick/' 






The HoRsiE{secir>£ his first motor-car): "Look at this— a live waggon \ Isn't that enough 
to.iveont hysterics?" 

tiKAWS' BY J, S* PtKiHB FOR Ll ruCK/' 

mined to treat the nov invader with a 
withering scorn. To day lie allows a whizzing 
automobile to pass him by without tremor, 
knowing that sooner or later he will expe- 
rience the felicity of M towing in " one of the 
despised machines. In the motor-car v. 
horse contest the race is not always to the 
swift The point was briefly put by one of 
our American friends in his picture of a city 
girl !ind an old farmer on a country road. 

14 Mercy ! " cried the 
comes an automobile ! 
of them?" With 
farmer replied : 
11 Oh, DO, miss ; 
he's drawed so 
many of 'em up 
the hills hereabout 
that he's lost all 
respect for 'em." 

artists have made 
a deal of (mi at 
thejecklessness of 
the chauffeur, and 
the jokes built up 
on this foundation 
have been even 
more numerous 
than the pictures. 
" W ho got the 
annual booby prize 
from the automo- 
bile club ? " asked 
one motorist of 
another, " Oh/' 
was the reply, 
" Slowgo got it. 
He ran over only 
fourteen people 




Is your horse afraid 
reassuring words the 

during 1901/ 1 
Again, one chauf- 
feur asks another ; 
" Have any bad 
luck during your 
trip yesterday ? n 
"Oh/' was the 
answer, "I ran 
over a man, but I 
don't think I hurt 
the machine at 
all," In another 
case, where an 
automobile had 
broken down, the 
chauffeur was busy 
trying to discover 
the trouble. The 
impatient owner of 
the machine at last broke out : " Hurry up, 
Felix ; there are a lot of people c